A Dissidence Between Royals
by Megara79
Summary: The battle of Unimatrix Zero is over, and the crew of Voyager believes that they've managed to thwart the Borg, yet again. The Queen, however, is a dangerous opponent and determined to track down the drones Voyager has helped escape. Soon Captain Janeway's life hangs in the balance, while Commander Chakotay clings to his humanity, as he desperately tries to save them all. J/C.
1. Prologue

**Title: A Dissidence Between Royals**

 **Author: Megara79**

 **Series: Star Trek: Voyager**

 **Rating: T**

 **Summary: The battle of Unimatrix Zero is over, and the crew of Voyager believes that they've managed to thwart the Borg, yet again. The Queen, however, is a dangerous opponent, and determined to track down the drones Voyager has helped escape. Soon the life of Captain Janeway hangs in the balance, while Commander Chakotay clings to his own humanity as he desperately tries to save them all.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing**

 **Thanks to: CF, beta hero! And Vestal Virgin who helped with the first chapters.**

 _ **A/N: Written for VAMBs Secret Summer 2015 and EydieMunroe, who had the following request:**_ **A kidnapping story. One of the senior staff is snatched and Voyager must find them, but not without confronting some serious moral issues. No goes:** **C/7, J/P, slash, rape, weddings, OOC behaviour, AU, Angry Warrior references.**

 **The following, is my humble attempt to write a plot-centric fic. Read at your own peril! Please note that Chapter 4 will have a M rating!**

* * *

 **2377**

"Energize!"

He watches the cube explode before them, temporarily lighting the bridge in hues of amber and emerald. Thousands of drones are destroyed along with the vessel. Shadows of sentient beings, their half-lives snuffed out in the blink of a queen's eye. He knows he should feel an inkling of sympathy for the souls on that ship, but he only cares about three of them. Bile hovers at the back of his throat and he barks his next order with force.

"Report!"

A sheen of sweat covers Ensign Kim's forehead as he franticly tries to realign fading atoms into the shape of loved ones.

Chakotay waits, tension coiling within him. He clenches his fists, stares at the young man at the ops station, and agonising seconds pass like years.

"I've got them!" Harry exclaims at last, relief colouring his features. After six years on _Voyager,_ he's matured, his work always diligent and performed with honour. In some circumstances, however, the ensign is just as green as he was at the beginning.

Relief is premature.

Relief is dangerous.

Chakotay nods a quick thanks regardless, and shifts his attention to his pilot. "Tom." Tom turns, his face ashen. "Sickbay."

Tom doesn't need to be told twice. There's a reason why he's a lieutenant and Harry isn't. Bolting from the helm, he's at the elevator before the second helmsman has reached the vacated seat. It takes every last ounce of self-control for Chakotay to not do the same. _'They're in good hands,'_ he tells himself.

 _She's_ in good hands.

He takes a breath, forcing his mind to focus on the task at hand and to forget the woman he serves. "Apart from General Korok's sphere, are there any other Borg vessels nearby?"

"No, sir," Neelix answers from behind, filling in at Seven of Nine's station.

"Long range scanners?" Chakotay asks next, turning his attention towards the lieutenant who stands where Tuvok usually works.

"Nothing on long range scanners either, Commander."

"Then take us out of here." Chakotay makes his way back to the captain's chair. "Maximum warp."

To the crew on the bridge he is the epitome of calm – a commanding officer Starfleet would be proud of. He doesn't allow them to see the misgivings and fears that taunt him while emotions of old are about to break free from the prison they were forced into when he first met the woman who usually captains this ship. He supported and believed in this mission, but as _Voyager_ flees from the Collective, a long forgotten fury flexes its claws, and a resounding thought plays on repeat.

 _'You've made a mistake!'_

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter 1

Hours pass before Chakotay is able to leave the bridge for sickbay. An insistent need to go has dulled into apprehension. Repairs are well under way, and _Voyager,_ along with the rogue sphere, has lucked out and managed to evade her Majesty's watchful eye. No Borg vessels seem to be following, and Chakotay's presence in the medical ward is expected.

 _'It's all too good to be true,'_ he thinks.

He's been told that the captain and B'Elanna are critical but stable. Tuvok remains the exception, and it's him the Doctor and Tom are working on when Chakotay enters. They move around the Vulcan with precision and purpose, removing cybernetic implants and trying to extract aggressive nanoprobes from a failing circulatory system. It's a meticulous process. For every two implants that are removed, another sprouts forth, much like weeds in an overgrown garden. The sight is alarming, and it fills Chakotay with a sense of dread that settles in his bones and chills him to the core.

He doesn't disturb the two medics. They will inform him about Tuvok's condition when there's something to say.

He glances over at B'Elanna. The lights are on low, but he can see her form, silent and unmoving on the biobed. She's sedated, her body resting comfortably while she awaits surgery. The state of her mind is anyone's guess.

That only leaves the captain.

Unsurprisingly, she's refused treatment. Triage is an act the EMH can forget all about. It doesn't matter that B'Elanna's implants are easier to remove, or that they aren't causing as much discomfort as those gifted to the captain. She won't allow the medical team to work on her before the others are seen to and out of danger.

Only necessity has forced her to permit the shut-down of her proximity transceiver.

Chakotay's fists clench, much like they did earlier on the bridge. The skin stretches over his knuckles, and he keeps reminding himself that he promised her his full support before she went on this half-baked mission. He can't fault her – not the mission and not her injuries. The crew comes first. If their positions were reversed, he'd refuse treatment too.

And yet, to him, it's _her_ survival that's paramount.

She's the warden that guards his fury. When her life is threatened, the door to the prison cell is left unlocked, and he becomes unhinged. She is the one person he cannot stand to lose, the one death from which he would never recover. He's faced her death too many times, and yet she's somehow always made it through.

Always.

And his fury has never been allowed to roam freely for long.

With this mission, something has changed – something vital. He can see her, alive and present just a few metres away from him, and yet a realisation has manifested itself within him and it speaks of an inevitable truth.

When it comes to the life of Kathryn Janeway, he is fighting a battle that can't be won.

He will ultimately lose her, because sacrifice is in her very nature. It's only a matter of time, and maybe, just maybe, it would _somehow_ be better for him if she died now, rather than having to live with the fear of what is undoubtedly coming.

He stares at her, unable to move. The grey sheen to her colouring is strikingly prominent on her bald head. The exo-plating that covers most of her body glints in the faint overhead light as she tries to get comfortable. Of course, she turned down the short reprieve of a sedative, too. Her partial eye piece appears to be dormant, but he knows it's still helping her visualise every neutron in the room. He wants to walk over to her – to comfort her, or himself, but his guts swirl and he's not sure he'll be able to keep his stomach contents down if he speaks to her. It's easier to blame her than accept her for who she is, and the inevitable loss of her facilitates his fury's escape in its entirety.

And so he turns and walks away.

Self-preservation or survival of the fittest, he doesn't know.

But shame feels the same regardless.

* * *

 **48 hours later**

Gritting her teeth, she tries her best to move without excessively pissing off her body. Forty-eight hours have passed since their return, and she's just come out of surgery – her fifth so far.

It's been... unpleasant.

She blanches at her choice of word and swears, not because she has an insistent need to, but because it's human.

The Doctor has assured her that she'll recover. Her blood stream is free of nanoprobes, and most of her exo-plating is gone. Her right eye is regaining its focus after the removal of the partial side piece that's was connected to her visual cortex. Her vanity is still suffering, but at least her hair is back.

As for her questionable psyche...

It's the one question the Doctor hasn't bothered asking. After six years as her physician, he knows when to push and when to back off. She's not ready to talk about it; about the almost hypnotic pull of the collective; how she, for the barest of moments, found herself thinking that maybe foregoing one's individuality wouldn't be such a devastating loss after all.

That it might even be comforting.

She shifts, and concentrates on not wincing.

The pain runs through her like an electric current, unyielding and constant, exploding in short bursts of blinding sparks when she moves. The monitor, a snitch in its own right, blatantly alerts anyone within proximity of her accelerated heart rate whenever it happens. The crewman, who doubles as a nurse, is on her way, but Kathryn shakes her head once, the command as clear as if she'd uttered it on the bridge. The young woman hesitates, torn between whose orders to follow. In the end, she compromises and goes to inform the Doctor instead of coming over. The Doctor, Kathryn knows, is busy working on Tuvok, and by the time he's free to come check on her, she will have edged herself into a more comfortable position, and her heart rate will be down again.

It's a compromise she can live with.

Placing her hands on the mattress, she tries using her arms to push herself further up the bed. Nausea bubbles forth, and her vision blurs. She gasps quietly, and rages at herself for not having more self-control. She can feel the hair at the back of her neck stick to her sweat-stained skin, and for a weak moment, she wonders if she should have let the crewman help her after all.

"Careful."

She can only blame herself, or possibly the Borg, for not noticing his arrival. She's torn between relief and embarrassment, but forgoes both when he places his hand behind her shoulder blades and gently eases her forward. The hand is warm against her back, but she can feel the tremor in his fingers and, for a cursory second, she thinks that this particular mission may have broken more than her body.

The thought disappears in a strangled moan. Chakotay says nothing.

When the pain subsides and her mind clears, his silence is what scares her the most. He gives her a glass of water and she accepts it, drinking the tepid liquid sparingly. Her last coughing fit caused her to pass out, and something tells her that the man next to her may take issue with her if that happens again.

Chakotay's hand remains at her back. A finger graces the exposed skin between the ties of her hospital gown. She tenses.

"May I?"

Kathryn doesn't know if she wants him to see the injuries she's been left with, but he still hasn't looked her in the eye and, barring his indecisive hovering on her first night back, he hasn't come to see her. A first, if memory serves. Maybe this is what he needs in order to bury whatever demons she's forced upon him?

"Go ahead," she tells him, before she can change her mind.

He unties the bottom fastener first.

Kathryn swallows, and quietly curses the heart monitor. The tune it plays isn't as erratic as before, but the pace is quick and revealing, and she wishes she could lean over and turn it off.

When the last tie is undone, he pushes the gown off her shoulders.

Kathryn looks at him over her shoulder. The gown still covers her front, but she's keenly aware of her bare back. His jaw muscles move as he takes in her wounds. She wants to tell him she'll be okay and make light of it all, but how can she when his eyes hold such darkness? Is his menace directed at her, or at the Borg? She doesn't know, and she doesn't want to speculate. She turns away, biting her lip, and wishes she could have a do-over. Change the past few days so this never happened.

Anything to have Tuvok and B'Elanna unmarred and on their feet.

Anything to keep him from looking at her the way he does.

Who cares if the thought behind this mission was just?

Maybe she's made a mistake.

Chakotay touches her then – brushes her damp hair away so he can caress the base of her neck where her neural transceiver was located. He strokes his hand down her back, fingers playing over bruises and scars the Doctor has promised will disappear in time. Neither the EMH nor Seven of Nine can guarantee that photons and electrical charges from a dermal regenerator won't awaken the dormant nodes, processors and transceivers that still reside in Kathryn's head. There are too many variables, and the EMH doesn't want to take any chances. The anti-assimilation inoculations keep the Borg parts of her brain asleep until he can remove them, but the surgeries are delicate and time-consuming, and needed by all three members of the away team. Some of the wounds may scar permanently as a result of the delay. In the grand scheme of things, that's a small price to pay.

Chakotay's fingers are careful in their examination, fanning over her spine before ghosting over her sides where the skin is her own and mostly undamaged. He briefly lingers by the swell of her breasts. Kathryn sits completely still.

He strokes the skin one final time before tying the gown back in place. He places an extra pillow behind her, and helps her lean back.

And then he's gone.

Kathryn's vision blurs. She closes her eyes, willing her pounding heart into submission. Every shrill sound the monitor makes is a testament to her crumbling resolve until a voice, smooth and calculating in its calmness, sifts through her mind.

" _You are going to be the death of him, Captain,"_ the Queen whispers.

And Kathryn screams.

* * *

TBC


	3. Chapter 2

_The view is ominous, a luminescent landscape painted in cinereal and green._

 _It smells faintly of oil, grease and decay, and there's an ever-constant thrum reverberating through the air – the sound of artificial movements and assimilated beings who scream. It's frightening how fast the sound dulls and turn into white noise._

 _She's been in this room before._

 _She looks around. She's alone this time._

 _Alone in the Queen's chamber._

 _She hesitates. Is this a dream? A nightmare? Something else entirely?_

 _Not contained by a hub like the last time, she moves cautiously through the room. A familiar sight greets her on one of the screens:_ Voyager _, sailing through the black expanse of space, the rogue sphere travelling beside her._

 _She extends her hand and touches the image. The screen is cool and solid behind her fingers._

 _Real._

" _Welcome back, Captain."_

 _Kathryn startles. She snatches her hand away from the image on the screen, and faces her captor. The Queen cocks her head, her ashen lips graced by a small smile as she takes in Janeway's appearance._

" _Almost back to human form," she murmurs, tilting her head to the opposite side. "How disappointing."_

 _Kathryn keeps her distance, steps away from the screen and onto the central landing where the Queen stands. "What am I doing here?"_

 _Another hint of a smile graces her Majesty's features, but she remains silent._

" _How are you doing this?" Kathryn demands. Her tone of voice tells nothing of the trepidation she feels. She walks slowly, circling the other woman as she speaks, command posture and steel in her bones. The Queen remains where she is, allows Kathryn her display of power, a sign of superiority in its own right._

" _The process is almost complete," comes the cryptic retort. "We have no use for your body when we can have your mind."_

 _Kathryn is about to ask what the Queen means, when pain explodes in her chest. Her knees buckle, and she struggles to keep herself upright. A short reprieve allows her to regain her footing just before another jolt sends her back down to the floor. Her head is pounding, and she clutches at her temples._

 _A far away voice, familiar and nothing like the Borg, is yelling._

"Clear!"

 _Another jolt, and Kathryn can't help the sound that expels from her. The last thing she hears before oblivion, is the Queen's parting words._

" _I will see you again soon, Captain."_

* * *

Chakotay paces the floor, and tries to quell the overwhelming need to punch his fist through the nearest bulk-head. He knew this so-called escape of theirs was too damned good to be true.

The Doctor and Seven's discussion does nothing to calm his frayed nerves. The duo conjures up an image of clucking hens, and he's about to tell them both to shut up when the captain beats him to it.

"Enough," she says, looking deceptively calm for a woman who went into cardiac arrest a few hours ago. "Just answer me one thing," she orders, pinching the bridge of her nose. "How? How can she establish a link with me? None of my remaining implants are operational."

"...as far as I can tell," the Doctor admits.

She allows that titbit of information some time to sink in. "That's not exactly comforting."

The Doctor inclines his head in acceptance and tries again. "Every single piece of equipment I have at my disposal suggests that your cranial transceiver is inactive."

"Apparently, your equipment is mistaken," Seven interjects.

Before the Doctor can reply, Chakotay breaks in. "You're our resident Borg expert, Seven. If the Doctor is at a loss, surely you should have something constructive to add?" He stops his pacing in front of the blonde, and ignores the warning glance Kathryn sends him.

Seven, to her credit, looks almost ashamed as she too admits defeat. "Captain Janeway's neural transceiver has been removed. It is feasible that the Queen has established a neural link through the cranial transceiver. How she has managed to do that when the transceiver is shut down, I cannot say."

"Then tell me," Chakotay demands with disdain as he closes the gap between them, "what's the point or use of you?"

"Excuse us," Kathryn says, her voice low and iron-fisted. The command is meant for the Doctor and Seven, but her eyes never leave the first officer.

The Doctor huffs before he acquiesces. "Try not to kill each other," he implores, his tone acerbic as he retreats. "I have enough work to do here without having to clean up after you two."

Seven remains where she is, a haughty expression on her face as she glares at Chakotay.

"Seven." The captain's patience is running thin, and the former drone is well aware.

She hesitates for a moment longer before accepting her dismissal, tight-lipped and irritated. "Yes, Captain."

Chakotay resumes his pacing as the young woman finally leaves. If he doesn't, he will end up breaking something. A glimmer of guilt pricks at him for attacking the former Borg; he knows she's just as frustrated as the rest of them. For all his medical expertise, the Doctor has no answers as to the captain's condition. Her earlier loss of consciousness can't be explained. The Doctor's inability to revive her despite his best effort, is just as much of a mystery.

Why she flat-lined...

Visions of the scene Chakotay witnessed when he was called back to sickbay plays in his mind on repeat.

Kathryn's body jolting as the Doctor tried to restart her heart.

Over and over.

And yet when she's finally conscious, it's the account of her near-death experience that terrifies him the most.

Maybe not a near death experience after all.

But a royal encounter.

"You have to change our access codes." Kathryn says. "Just in case the Queen decides to visit again. She can't be allowed to control _Voyager_."

"Already done," Chakotay replies.

"We have to assume there's a reason she's doing this. I'm inclined to believe it has something to do with our companions on the sphere." She states the obvious with a slight snort, hoping her attempt at levity will coax a smile out of him. She sighs when it doesn't. "Will you please stand still and look at me?" Her voice morphs into annoyed resignation.

Chakotay glares at her, but continues to move. If he stops, he'll explode; take his anger and worry out on her, and tell her things he shouldn't.

"We made a mistake," he hisses. "This mission was a mistake."

"Don't," she warns from the biobed. "We were in agreement."

"We were mistaken!"

Kathryn looks over to Tuvok's bed, from where the Doctor is studiously ignoring them. "Keep your voice down."

"Not every cause needs to be fought, Kathryn," Chakotay continues, aggravation infusing every word despite his lowered tone. "Our actions have consequences. This—" He breaks off, moves to her side and grabs her face with insistent hands. "This could have been avoided. Don't you understand? We are not required to pick up every lost cause on our way. I know what I said before you left, that I supported the mission and stood by it. But that was before you came back, broken, battered and, for all intents and purposes, assimilated. We could have lost you. I..." He stops himself before he can reveal more than he already has.

Kathryn places her own hands on top of his, her eyes imploring, and what he hates more than anything is that she's right. "This is who we are."

The fight leaves him as he stares into her suspiciously bright eyes. Her cheeks are warm in his hands, and her colouring is better than it has been since the away team's rescue. His thumbs caress her skin gently.

"You nearly died," he presses, hoping to make her understand.

"But I didn't," she says, and his anger returns in spades.

"This time!"

He lets her go. Removes himself from her vicinity and signals the Doctor.

The EMH speaks as he approaches, sarcasm dripping from every word. "I'm glad to see you've made up." He takes out a hypospray, and wiggles it in Kathryn's direction. "I come bearing gifts. It's time for another anti-assimilation inoculation."

"Why bother?" Chakotay says, turning his back on them as he heads for the exit. "The Queen's already adapted."

* * *

TBC


	4. Chapter 3

Kathryn stands in front of the mirror, staring at her own image. It's been five days since their rescue, but in many ways it feels like she's still trapped on that damned cube. Her skin tone is sallow, and there are dark circles under her eyes. Her hair hangs in limp tangles, its colour a dull shade of copper rather than its usual brighter auburn. True, she looks better than she has, but that is nothing to write home about.

She pulls at the thin jersey she's wearing, exposing her collar bone and the spider-like scar that marks her skin. She's had her first dermal regeneration, and the skin looks red and irritated. She touches the mark carefully. It smarts. With all the extracted wires and tubules, she wonders if the ache she's experiencing is the equivalent of phantom limb pain. Spinal clamps and exo-plating, battery parts and copper coils.

Half human, half machine.

Is this what captaining _Voyager_ is turning her into? Even without Borg implants?

She didn't consider the physical trauma of assimilation when the plan was devised. What was the point? The Doctor's inoculation was meant to protect their individuality; the rest of it was just machinery – parts that could be scrapped once the mission was completed.

She should have known better.

She strokes the newly formed scar again and shudders. She's never been one to put much emphasis on her own appearance, but she wants the Borg _off_ her body.

Even if it is premature, like the Doctor keeps arguing.

It took some 'convincing' before he agreed to the dermal regeneration, just as it took a minor 'discussion' for him to remove the last of her cranial implants. He kept saying that the implants could hold a clue as to how the Queen had been able to make contact in the first place.

Kathryn had not agreed.

The ensuing stalemate was only for show, since the four pips belongs to her.

And now her body, at least, heals.

Chakotay hasn't voiced any of his usual protests at her disregard of the Doctor's medical judgement. Then again, she's hardly seen him since he visited her in sickbay three days ago. He's avoiding her. She wonders sometimes if the easy friendship they forged at the start of this journey has withered away completely – not just on the account of the epilogue to Unimatrix Zero, but because, little by little, the hardship of sharing command has chipped away at them and made them callous.

Made her callous.

Half human, half machine.

Maybe that's why Chakotay has been so angry with her. He hasn't told her flat out, but the fact that he can't look at her properly tells her all she needs to know. He's furious with her. He thinks she disregards her own life.

Does she?

Is he right?

The thought turns her stomach, and bites into her heart. She misses him. Misses the way she used to be with him. He is, by far, her most important relationship, and she thinks she may be squandering it away.

And for what?

She scoffs. She should have remained in sickbay. The joy of escaping has been short lived. Her quarters are too quiet, and solitude is not offering the respite she was hoping for. Her thoughts, in stark contrast, are too loud, buzzing around like little insects, and she can't swat them away when there's nothing around to distract her. She's left questioning the person she's become, and she's not sure she's comfortable with the answer. She sees flashes of her own image as a drone in her mind, and wonders how different she and the Queen really are. They're both rulers of their respective collectives, and Kathryn fears there isn't much of her humanity left after her six years in this quadrant.

In a move that's entirely too dramatic, Kathryn's closed fist connects forcefully with the mirror, shattering it into a thousand pieces. Flexing her fingers, she watches as blood start to trickle from the abrasions covering her knuckles, and takes comfort in the pain the cuts have brought her.

Anything to make her feel...

...something.

* * *

Chakotay sits in his quarters, hoping to quell his demons and temper his rage after a day that hasn't brought them any closer to solving the Queen's agenda. In Kathryn's absence, he remains in charge, reporting to her only when necessary, and not indulging in small talk. He struggles to look at her and not see wires, tubules and a bald head. It turns his insides, and he wishes he could put his feelings into words that aren't filled with accusations and blame. She doesn't push the matter, a stubborn air about her as she silently refuses to apologise for Unimatrix Zero.

The last few days haven't been completely devoid of mercy. B'Elanna is back at work, and Chakotay visits engineering as often as he can. In contrast to his feelings towards Kathryn, he has an insistent need to see B'Elanna as often as he can. To say that she's getting annoyed with him is putting it mildly. Chakotay can't help it. Little sisters, biological or not, will do that to a man.

Tuvok remains in sickbay, his condition stable and improving with each passing day. Chakotay visits him, too, sitting with the Vulcan in silence, one spiritual being lending his strength to another. He isn't sure it helps, but it eases his conscience.

They've parked _Voyager_ on a conveniently placed moon to complete their repairs. Korok and his complement of liberated drones are still with them and, although it's with some trepidation, Chakotay has ordered the crew to help them repair the sphere and the Doctor to see to their medical needs.

 _'It's what Kathryn would do,'_ he thinks, as he nurses his drink.

Everyday life is seeping back into their temporarily halted journey, but Chakotay isn't able to relax. His gut tells him that the danger hasn't passed. He can feel the undercurrent of it, but he's damned if he knows what to do about it.

Maybe it's himself he should worry about, not Kathryn.

As if on cue, the door chimes, and he knows it's her.

He releases a tired breath and grants her entry, watching her over the rim of his glass as she walks into the darkened room. She's in civilian clothing, which he appreciates. At least it means that she's not contesting her sick leave. Her balance is better, but she's still favouring her right leg, and he gestures towards the chair next to the couch with his drink.

An audible sigh escapes her. He doesn't know if it's in relief or exasperation, but she sits down and motions for the bourbon. The knuckles on her hand are freshly bruised, and he raises a questioning eyebrow. She doesn't explain, and motions for his drink again.

"This isn't synthelol," he says gruffly.

"And you're not my mother," Kathryn counters.

He chortles at that, and concedes to her wishes. "Where's your cortical monitor?" he asks, not overtly surprised to see that her neck isn't sporting the medical equipment.

She hesitates, her unease uncharacteristic. She sips at his drink.

"I removed it." She looks at him, daring him to tell her off.

"Why?" he asks, taking his glass away from her. He drains it, enjoys the slight burn in his throat, then fills it to the rim. He takes another swig, and hands the glass back to her.

"I..." trailing off, she searches for the right words. He waits, patience not his strongest suit these days, but knowing she can't be rushed. In the end, her own demons force the answer out of her. "I've had enough of technology for a while."

Ha can't help but challenge her. "You're taking an unnecessary chance."

"As always, according to you."

He can't object. This is what he's accused her of, and this, he supposes, is where his anger stems from – her insistent need for self-sacrifice and blatant disregard for her own welfare. It's closely followed by a niggling thought that questions if some of her command choices are unconsciously made because there's a fair chance she won't survive them.

Her chosen atonement for stranding them all to begin with.

"You have to forgive me at some point," she says.

"Forgive you for what?"

She looks at him, a pregnant pause between them. "For not being who you need me to be," she finally offers.

They're getting dangerously close to a subject they've avoided for years, and he doesn't know what to say. She's right and wrong in equal measures, but he doesn't see how either of them could have chosen differently.

When he doesn't answer, she finishes the drink, puts the empty glass on the table, and stands to leave.

She almost makes it to the door before he stops her. He's not sure of much, but he knows one thing – he can't let her go. Not like this, and not now. It will destroy their relationship completely, and it will be his fault. He can't lead his life without her in it, and he needs her to know how much she means to him.

Make her understand.

Desperation clings to him, coaxed forth by his line of thinking and feelings a first officer shouldn't have for his captain. All the things he wants to say to her.

All the things he can't.

His hand closes around her arm, keeping her in place. She starts to protest, but before she can say anything substantial, his mouth finds hers, and years of expertly crafted boundaries turns to dust.

* * *

TBC


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: Please note that this chapter has an M rating due to a scene that depicts an act of sexual nature. If that's not for you, there's no need to keep reading. I'll write a brief summary in tomorrows A/N, as there's a vital plot point in this chapter that sets up the rest of the story. For anyone that might worry... it's not a baby. Lol.**

* * *

He can think of something akin to a thousand reasons why he should stop kissing her, but they're all drowned out by the fact that she's kissing him back.

Her hands have balled into fists on his chest, the material of his shirt firmly held in her grasp as she pulls him closer, her lips warm and insistent against his.

He really should stop, blame his breech of propriety on the alcohol, his exhaustion...

Anything...

But he can't. He just _can't_.

He explores her mouth, tastes the mixture of bourbon and coffee on her tongue, and revels in the feel of having her in his arms. Alive and warm.

A hiss escapes her when he bites down on her lower lip, and the sound fuels his growing erection. He soothes the mark, licks at it, and the kiss deepens. Her lips part, and his tongue strokes against hers. She hums her approval, responding to his fervour, neither of them wanting to stop. In the end, breathing becomes a necessity for them both. The hand that cups her cheek slides down to rest at her back, and he regretfully breaks away. Her breath escapes in short puffs of air, and he waits for his dismissal.

It never comes.

Instead, her fists relax, fingers slowly extending until her palms are flat against him. She pushes herself away, but remains in his embrace, and looks up at him. Her eyes are wide, an underlying pool of emotions in her gaze. The same desperation he feels is reflected back at him. A need to see this through. To finish what they've started, consequences be damned.

A desire to feel human.

"I don't do it on purpose," her voice hitches, and she tugs at his shirt for emphasis. She looks at him imploringly, eyes burning into his. "Whatever you think of me, the chances I take... these missions..."

He knows what she's trying to tell him – that she's understood from where his anger and worry is borne. What fuels her acts and choices is inherently what makes her the woman she is. The woman he's chosen to serve.

 _'The woman you love,'_ a latent part of his soul murmurs.

"This is who we are," he accepts, echoing her words from earlier.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"I know," he nods, and kisses her again.

She responds in kind. He groans as she deliberately rubs against his length. He finds the hem of her top, breaking contact for a short second, and pulls the garment over her head, leaving her in her bra. He pauses, tracing the healing scars that are marring her shoulders and ribs. His touch raises goose bumps on her skin, and she shudders before pulling his mouth back to hers.

Together, they stumble into his bedroom, the light as dim in there as in the room from which they've come. Shoes and socks are toed off, and his shirt is thrown to the floor as they fall onto the bed.

In a deft move, he rolls her so that she's under him, legs apart to accommodate him. His mouth travels from her lips to her neck, tracing her pale skin with his tongue. He can feel her blood pump through her carotid artery as she exposes her neck to him. He bites at her pulse point, just hard enough to make her gasp, and it's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard.

He pulls back a little, wanting to look at her. He knows it's risky, that if they lose their momentum, Starfleet will catch up with them, and they'll have no choice but to end things.

She doesn't shrink away from his exploring eyes, her body a canvas of healing wounds. Some of the lacerations are destined to scar permanently. He wonders if he'll ever see them again after this.

Her hand strokes his cheek, and he closes his eyes for a short moment. She smells faintly of lavender, and for a short second he thinks of New Earth, and a well-used bath tub. He needs to feel her, every part of her, and he inches the left bra strap down exposing her breast before his mouth covers her nipple. Kathryn arches into him, his teeth grazing the skin sharply. Her body jerks as he nips at her, and he smiles at her reaction. Her hands travel over his bare back and up his spine to the nape of his neck, until she can grab a fist full of hair. She pulls him away gently, giving herself enough room to manoeuvre her hands behind her back to rid herself of the bra completely.

They both still for a moment, his thumb playing idly across her lower abdomen. She sucks in a breath, eyes locked with his. If she has any objections, this is when she'll voice them. He waits for her, seeing only want in her eyes, and something else she's only allowed him to glimpse a handful of times before. He slowly pulls at her pants, hooking his fingers in her panties as well. She murmurs her permission and he removes her clothing, leaving her naked in front of him. He can smell her arousal, and it makes him twitch in anticipation. He edges further down the bed to position himself, wraps his arms around her thighs, and tickles the inside of her legs.

"Please," she begs quietly, and that's all the encouragement he needs. He descends on her, his tongue finding her core without preamble. She bucks as he makes contact, her shallow breath egging him on. He licks at her, his strokes alternating between feather light and demanding as he tastes her. He thinks he could quite happily die between her legs, and he continues his assault with ardour.

Kathryn is starting to pant, and his onslaught increases in intensity. When she starts to shake, he pulls back, an insistent need to be inside her dragging him away, and she makes a noise of disappointment.

His uniform pants and briefs disappear with haste, and with that he is just as naked as she is. An arm winds around her back for support, with the other placed on the mattress by her shoulder, taking some of his weight off of her. She wraps her legs around him, bringing him to her. He nudges at her opening, and she sucks in a breath at the contact. He refuses to rush, wanting the feeling to last. She lifts her lower body to accommodate him. His movement is torturously unhurried, and when he finally buries himself inside of her fully, they both gasp in relief.

An act years in the making, and fueled by desperation.

He can feel her walls tighten around him, and he quivers in response.

Her eyes are open, seeking his, and she pants through partially parted lips. They remain still, getting used to the feel of each other. Slowly, he draws back, almost pulling out of her warmth completely, before pushing himself into her again. Her back is arching anew, and something close to pain mixes with pleasure on her face. He's reminded of all the surgeries she's been through, and moves with a little more care, not wanting to hurt her. The arm that's wrapped around her back eases her towards him, before he skilfully pivots them both so that he's sitting on his knees with her straddling him.

"I'm fine," she promises, cradling his face, kissing him.

"Are you sure?" he mumbles against her lips.

Her thighs tighten around his hips in silent confirmation.

He accepts her answer for what it is, and groans when she starts to move. He soon follows, and they rock against each other, the position offering them both just the right amount of friction. The air in the room is heady and flushed, and despite everything that has happened, their union feels welcome and inevitable. All the complicated feelings he's ever had towards her seem to have culminated this week, and yet the one thing he can't shake, the one thing he thinks they both have known since their first encounter, is that this was meant to be.

She draws him to her, kissing him, and he swells within her. Their rhythm is becoming more and more uncoordinated, the pace picking up as they approach their release. He's close, but he doesn't want to come without her. Supporting more of her weight, he moves somewhat awkwardly, but the angle is just right, and she whimpers against his mouth.

His right hand finds its way between them, their union creating a welcomed smoothness that allows him to hit his mark with precision.

Her eyes fly open as he touches her, his thumb sliding against her with ease. A strangled cry escapes her, and she blinks.

At first, he thinks it's a trick of the light.

His pace quickens as he stares into orbs that are normally blue.

He thrusts into her more forcefully, her delighted smile radiant, yet not quite right.

Chakotay's mind screams at him. Something's wrong! Something's happened!

Slender thighs keep him in place, anchoring him to her centre as their movements becomes frantic. She twists her pelvis, bringing him even closer, and God forgive him, he can't make himself stop.

The light reflects off of the metallic gleam in her eyes, and she pants in a voice that doesn't sound like hers at all.

"Hello, Chakotay."

He comes, hard and unforgiving, emptying himself inside her, those foreign eyes glinting at him as she clenches around him. She swallows his cry, her mouth insistent on his as she comes, too.

And it's heaven and hell, all at once.

* * *

TBC


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: As promised, here's a short recap of Chapter 4 for those who aren't smut inclined: It's five days after Unimatrix Zero, and the Doctor has not been able to figure out how the Queen was able to establish a link with Captain Janeway, who he's reluctantly released from sickbay. In his quarters Chakotay and Kathryn have a frank (ish) conversation, which culminates in them having sex. Just as their union is about to hit its peak, Chakotay locks eyes with Kathryn, only to find the Queen's metallic orbs staring back at him...**

* * *

 _After a few disorienting seconds, she knows where she is, recognising the room by the smell and the lighting. Her body is tingling, her chest heaving, and she wants to scream at the injustice of having been snatched away from her reality, and from the man whose warmth still fills her._

 _She looks up and sees the Queen struggling to keep her balance, a keening noise of pleasure emanating from her as she grabs onto the top railing for support._

 _Pushing herself onto her feet, Kathryn's thankful she's no longer naked. Her eyes remain on the other woman. Like Kathryn, her breaths escape in shallow gulps, a small flush tinting her grey skin. The Queen closes her eyes and inhales deeply, a small shudder running through her body._

 _From where she's standing, Kathryn shudders as well, but for an entirely different reason._

" _A most curious sensation," the Queen says as she opens her eyes, her composure restored. She keeps her attention on Janeway, interest colouring her features as she studies her adversary. "I can understand the appeal."_

" _Careful," Kathryn manages, "You almost sound like an individual."_

 _The insult doesn't penetrate the Queen's force field. "So much discord centred around this one humanoid," she says, and some of Kathryn's forced bravado crumples._

 _'How does she know that?' she thinks. How can she possibly know that?_

 _The Queen twists her neck, a look of curious revulsion on her face. "How can you stand the chaos he brings you?"_

 _Dread runs through Kathryn's veins, but she soldiers on, even as some of the pieces of this elaborate puzzle are starting to fit together. "I have no idea what you're talking about."_

 _The Queen smiles, the somewhat robotic flare to her movements becoming more and more pronounced as she walks over to Janeway. "Come now, Captain," she says. "You can't lie to us. Not anymore."_

" _Explain," Kathryn grits out, the pit of her stomach bottomless. 'This is what I get for having sex,' she thinks to herself with self-deprecation._

 _Eerily, the Queen chuckles._

 _She stops in front of Kathryn, and gently grabs her chin, caressing her skin. The Queen's fingers are oddly dry, the undercurrent of electrical charges pricking at her with each foreboding caress. "We are the Borg," the Queen says, as Kathryn tries not to flinch. "And now, in a way, so are you."_

 _Kathryn knows she hasn't been assimilated, at least not in the traditional sense. Her mind is still her own and, as far as she knows, her body remains on_ Voyager. _But the Queen has gained an insight into Kathryn's thinking that is downright frightening. She knows things, feels things, much like Kathryn does._

 _The connection is nothing short of terrifying._

" _What do you want?" Kathryn asks, feigning calmness._

 _The Queen retracts her hand from Kathryn's face, trailing a cybernetic finger along her chin before stepping away. "What we've always wanted. To turn chaos to order."_

" _Why bring me here?"_

" _Leverage," the Queen offers, and confusion clouds Kathryn thinking._

" _Leverage?"_

" _Don't worry," the other woman says. "It really isn't any of your concern." She walks over to one of the control screens, and a roster appears._

 _Kathryn glances at it. Drone designations. Every now and then, one of the designations light up, then fades. 'Dying embers,' Kathryn thinks. Drones that have been liberated, or drones that are still connected to the hive mind?_

" _Your little stunt has caused quite the collective stir," the Queen continues, turning to another console which flickers into life, showing spatial grids._

" _Oh, I think our 'little stunt' has done more than that."_

" _Don't flatter yourself, Captain. You're not the first who has tried to spell discord within the Borg."_

" _Discord?" Kathryn chuckles darkly. "I think civil war is much more apt."_

 _Antagonising an irritated bee is rarely a good idea, and a piercing sting of explosive heat sends Kathryn to her knees._

 _The Borg Queen stares at her, cold fury emanating from her in stark contrast to the fire that's eating Kathryn from the inside. The alien takes a step closer, tilting her head as she stares at Janeway and assaults her with another bout of pain._

" _Your insolence will not be tolerated," the Queen hisses through closed lips, her voice sounding loud and clear in Kathryn's mind. The words repeat, and with every encore, more and more drones join in until all Kathryn hears is the Collective as one. She can barely breathe, her throat constricting as she suffocates. She bites her bottom lip to keep from screaming, and tastes blood._

 _The Queen wipes her own mouth in return. "I may not want you dead yet, Captain," her silent warning affirms. "But I will destroy your world, and I will make you bleed."_

* * *

"Please state the nature of the medical..."

To his infinite credit, the Doctor doesn't even bat a photonic eyelid when he sees the commander in his half-dressed state, holding the naked and seizing form of Captain Janeway in his arms.

Chakotay has beamed directly to sickbay, and thank heavens for small favours, the medical officer is alone, sans Tuvok, who appears to be sleeping. He's managed to wrap a sheet around Kathryn, allowing her unconscious body some modesty. There's little question as to what's happened between them, so he doesn't bother wasting time trying to explain.

"Computer," the Doctor barks while he moves, pointing to the nearest biobed. "Secure sickbay and seal the doors. Pi Alpha Alpha Lambda."

In Chakotay's arms, Kathryn is shaking violently.

"Watch her head," the Doctor orders, as Chakotay tries to ease her onto the biobed. He does as he's told, taking care to ensure that her head and neck don't hit anything as her body spasms. There's the distinct hiss of a hypospray, and the seizure thankfully abates.

"Commander, please," the Doctor says, efficiency and a hint of sympathy underlying his brusqueness. "take a step back. I need to examine her."

Chakotay does as he's told.

The Doctor circles around the captain, his tricorder travelling over her. "Once I'm done here," he tells the commander, "I will be asking you questions that may infringe on your and the captain's privacy. I want to make it clear ahead of time that no questions will be asked unless I deem it absolutely necessary for the captain's well-being. Do you understand?"

Chakotay nods. "I'll tell you whatever you need to know."

The Doctor looks at him then, his eyes serious, but kind, and he nods his appreciation. "Go replicate yourself a uniform, Commander. You can use my office to change."

Chakotay casts a hasty eye on the baggy sweat pants he has on. In his hurry to get Kathryn to sickbay, it's all he's put on. Still, he hesitates, worried that if he leaves, somehow, she'll know. It's a ridiculous thought, and he knows it stems from his guilt at not being there for the five previous days.

"Now, Commander." the Doctor prompts. "I need to call in Mr Paris, and though his discretion, odd as it sounds, can be assured, I highly doubt either you or the captain would like him privy to your mutual state of undress. I'll stay with her," he adds reassuringly, and Chakotay reluctantly inclines his head.

He changes in record time, but struggles with his rank bar. As he tries to affix the pin, he realises his hands are shaking. He mentally scolds himself. He needs to get a grip. Panicking will serve no one, and he has to have his wits about him.

" _Hello, Chakotay."_

The Queen's whispered greeting plays in his mind, her glinting eyes flashing before him in her moment of ecstasy.

He leans against the Doctor's desk, his shaking hands grabbing onto the workspace. He drops his head, taking even, measured breaths. There's blood on his left wrist. Where it's come from he has no idea. He stares at the crimson stain, eyes transfixed on the droplet. Maybe Kathryn bit her lip or tongue when she started seizing? He allows himself another moment, then wipes the spot away.

Worry is replaced by purpose and an assured and unforgiving ruthlessness. Whatever this is, whatever is happening to her, she's going to be fine. He won't accept anything different.

Straightening, he affixes the rank bar without problem. His command persona slides into place, shutting out unwanted images, and dulling the taste of Kathryn on his tongue. He walks out of the office, and goes to work. He taps his comm badge.

"Commander Chakotay to Mr Kim."

 **'Kim here.'**

"Take us to yellow alert, Mr Kim, and start scanning the area for Borg activity."

 **'Sir?'**

Chakotay hears worry creeping into the ensign's voice. "Relax, Mr Kim. It's just a precaution."

 **'Of course, Sir,'** Harry answers, schooling his voice.

Chakotay closes the connection and turns to the Doctor. "Report."

"Ah," the Doctor acknowledges, and gets straight down to business. "I'm afraid the news isn't good. She's in a coma, and there are signs of cellular degradation, located mostly to her nervous system."

Chakotay guessed as much. "Cause?"

"Unknown. Cellular damage is not uncommon after seizures, but I need to do further scans to determine the actual cause of the condition."

"Any signs of nanoprobes, or Borg implants?"

The Doctor raises a questioning eyebrow. "I assume this question is rooted in new information, and not raised by any doubts regarding my initial treatment and medical expertise? The implants and nanoprobes are all gone. I wouldn't have let her bully me into releasing her from sickbay if they weren't."

"Let's just say there is some compelling evidence to support the Queen's return," Chakotay says, bracing himself for what he knows comes next.

"I think you better start at the beginning," comes the Doctor's acerbic reply.

* * *

TBC


	7. Chapter 6

"You should all feel free to question my medical expertise!"

The senior staff have all gathered in sickbay for their debriefing. Kathryn remains unconscious, her higher brain functions dormant and refusing to respond to medical treatments. 36 hours have passed since Chakotay brought her to sickbay, and the Doctor has finally found a clue as to what's caused her condition. His flare for dramatics does not belie his genuine anguish over his inadvertent oversight.

"Stop blaming yourself, Doc," Tom says, putting a comforting hand on the EMH's shoulder.

"If not myself, then whom?"

"I fail to see how assigning blame will change the outcome of the captain's condition," Seven offers. "Perhaps you should put your feelings aside for now and revisit them at a more convenient time?"

"What Seven, in her own compassionate way, is trying to say," Neelix begins, a sideways glance directed at the blonde, "is give yourself a break." He turns his full attention back to the Doctor. "You made the connection eventually."

The Doctor sends the Talaxian a look that isn't entirely grateful.

"Neelix is right," Chakotay cuts in, claiming everyone's attention. "Just tell us what you've found, Doc."

The Doctor rallies. "It's a virus," he explains, then haltingly adds, "More to the fact, it's my virus."

"I beg your pardon?" B'Elanna's tone has a distinct edge to it.

The Doctor looks mortified as he continues. "The virus the away team released into the central plexus was, as expected, downloaded immediately. Unfortunately for the Queen, the Borg couldn't adapt to its effects quick enough to stop the drones of Unimatrix Zero from regaining their individuality. They did, however, manage to modify it."

"Modify it how?" Harry asks.

"Never mind that," Tom interrupts, "How did the captain get it? And what about B'Elanna and Tuvok?" The pilot eyes the half-Klingon with concern.

"Neither Lieutenant Torres nor Commander Tuvok appears to be infected."

"Lucky us," quips B'Elanna. "But what about the captain?"

The Doctor shrugs. "I have no explanation as to why she's been infected and you haven't."

"It must have happened when Tu..." B'Elanna pauses, looking apologetically at Tuvok.

Apart from the exhaustion that still lingers on the Vulcan's face, he's stoically nonplussed as always. "What Lieutenant Torres is trying to say," he clarifies, "is that the captain must have been infected when I apprehended her and brought her to the Queen."

"But she never saw the Queen," Harry protests. "The captain only appeared before her as a holographic projection."

A thought dawns on Seven. "She was connected to an interlink hub. The Queen could have administered the virus then."

"A logical assumption," Tuvok concurs.

"Which brings us back to my questionable expertise, and Mr Kim's original question," the Doctor says, begrudgingly. "The virus is showing adaptive qualities far beyond its biological nature. It modifies and mimics components and cells that aid its need for survival; in this instance, the anti-assimilation inoculations I've been administering to the captain. This has not only enabled the virus to hide, but also allowed it to replicate and infect the captain's primary systems, all the while avoiding my detection, since it looked exactly like the compounds which made up the inoculations to begin with."

"A Trojan horse," Chakotay sighs, tiredly.

"Exactly." The Doctor looks at the commander. "Nothing I've come up with so far has made a dent in its armour, and as much as I loathe to say it, I'm not sure what I can do to help her."

* * *

 **24 hours later**

Chakotay leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he sits by Kathryn's side. He purses his lips, expelling an exhausted breath through clenched teeth. He can't remember the last time he slept or ate, not that it matters. He's not hungry, and he doubts he could sleep. The senior staff have all returned to their designated departments, the clock ticking as they work to repair the ship while researching ways to help their captain.

Kathryn's had another seizure, violent and long-lived. He wonders if it'll all be for nothing.

Apart from her laboured breathing, sickbay is quiet. They're approaching midnight, and her condition is deteriorating.

During the episode, her arms and legs were put in restraints, an unfortunate necessity to keep her thrashing body from injuring itself. She fought the restraints, even in her comatose state. Her back arched like a spent bow, fists clenched and feet pointed.

She's calm now, but the restraints remain. Just in case. Rasping puffs of air expel from her as she breathes. Her chest rises and falls in an uneven rhythm. There's a blue shade to her split lip and cold fingertips.

Subtle signs of a circulatory system that's failing.

The virus is feasting on her. All major body systems are infected, and the Doctor is still struggling to help her. She should be dead, the Doctor has said. Would have been, if not for the way the virus ebbs and flows. Just as it sends her into a tailspin, it pulls back, allowing her body to create new cells.

Just enough to keep her alive.

A controlled mitosis that keeps her circling the proverbial drain.

Keeps her hostage.

A curse and a blessing in equal measures.

He feels helpless.

Hopeless.

 _'She's dying,'_ Chakotay thinks, and by association, so is he. He leans closer to the bed, and brushes damp strands of lacklustre hair away from her face. It's probably his imagination, but he likes to think her breath evens out at his touch, if only a little. That she can sense his presence, accepting his silent plea for forgiveness. Forgiveness for not sitting with her from the moment the away team returned. For being angry with her. For arguing with her. For making up with her.

For not being able to have a relationship with her that is easy, carefree and uncomplicated.

He leans forward. Kisses the scar over her eye. Her cheek. Her mouth.

Her lips taste of salt.

Small droplets of moisture that he kisses away, only to find them replaced just as quickly.

An unforgiving onslaught of tears that he struggles to stem.

He looks at Kathryn's comatose form and feels nothing but a determination that almost frightens him. He knows whatever happens next, he will cross lines he shouldn't. He will break vows and trample on regulations, and it will all be for one reason only.

To get her back.

* * *

TBC


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: Just a quick, yet grateful, thanks to the guests who's reviewed. Hope you're all still entertained and want to keep reading.**

 **Bee – thank you for reviewing Choices as well! Glad you liked it : )**

* * *

Chakotay wakes with a crick in his neck, and his hand clasping Kathryn's in its restraint.

"Commander?" The EMH's voice is compassionate as he approaches.

"Report," Chakotay croaks, wincing as he lets go of Kathryn's hand, stretching his bruised neck.

"No change, Commander," the Doctor informs him, a cup of coffee in his hand. He gives it to Chakotay. "I'm usually not one for promoting the captain's never-ending misuse of stimulants in the morning, but in this case, I'm willing to make an exception."

Chakotay accepts the hot beverage with gratitude. The smell is comforting, and he inhales deeply. He glances over at Kathryn.

She remains still.

"Well, if this doesn't wake her…" he jokes lamely, and the Doctor offers him a courtesy smile in return. Chakotay's attempt at humour withers away, and he takes a sip of his drink. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he can feel the beginning of a 5 o'clock shadow. He can't stay, he knows that. There are repairs to coordinate, duty rosters and systems reports to look over. By now, the entire crew knows of Kathryn's condition, and their morale is dwindling. His presence on the bridge will alleviate some of that, no matter what his personal feelings are.

He moves to stand, a hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "Let me know if anything changes."

"Of course, Commander," the Doctor promises.

Chakotay nods his thanks, and heads for his quarters.

He goes through the motions; sonic shower, porridge for breakfast, another cup of coffee. He goes to the bridge, signs reports, and speaks with department heads; does whatever Kathryn would do if she was still in charge. Repairs are running as scheduled. Another two days, and they should be on their merry way.

He meets with General Korok.

"The offer to keep travelling with us stands," Chakotay says, shaking the Klingon's hand.

It's midday, and the meeting between the two has run smoothly and as expected. Chakotay can't help but respect the newly liberated drone. There are seven thousand Borg on Korok's ship. Only five of them, including Korok himself, are previous residents of Unimatrix Zero. To take control over a sphere of seven thousand is a feat that is unparalleled, and speaks volumes of the warrior.

That he and his crew have managed to temporarily deactivate the functional drones as well is nothing short of a miracle.

A miracle that, to the surprise of everyone, has been replicated. Some thousand light years away, another liberated sphere exists.

"Thank you, Commander," Korok's gratitude is unquestionable, but so is his desire for justice. " _Voyager_ has been kind to us, but we're eager to rendezvous with our sister-ship, and return to the battlefield. If we don't fight for those who remain, who will?"

"Turning order to chaos. It's a noble cause."

"As most battles are," Korok says, inclining his head.

"The Queen will not rest until she's hunted you down."

"She will fail."

"I hope you're right," Chakotay says, meaning it with all his heart.

The two men exchange final pleasantries, and Chakotay leaves the Klingon with promises that _Voyager's_ crew will keep helping with repairs for as long as both ships remains on the moon. As well as treating _Voyager's_ own patients _,_ the Doctor and Tom will be at hand to assist the ex-drones with the removal of their implants. They're also devising an inoculation that should keep the functional drones dormant until they too, can be separated from the collective.

When that happens, Korok will be captaining a warship.

A warship hell-bent on crippling the Queen, any way it can.

Just as Korok is about to exit the ready room, he turns back to Chakotay. "I am sorry to hear about the fate of your captain, Commander."

Chakotay takes his time before he replies. "Thank you."

The Klingon shrugs apologetically. "I'm afraid with such a formidable leader, gossip travels."

A humourless smile flashes across Chakotay's features, and Korok rightly judges the response as permission to continue speaking. "If the rumours are true, and your captain is infected with a modulated virus rather than nanoprobes, then assimilation is not what the Queen wants."

"We've had several dealings with the Borg in the past," Chakotay admits. "The Queen and Captain Janeway have not exactly developed a friendly rapport over the years."

"A personal vendetta is plausible," Korok agrees, then makes a point that seems glaringly obvious once the words have been spoken, "had we not been Borg."

* * *

"I'm not sure I understand?"

Neelix looks at Chakotay, his facial spots brightening the way they do when the Talaxian is confused or embarrassed.

"I hate to say I agree," Tom says, "but I agree."

B'Elanna rolls her eyes. "How you've both made it this far, astounds me."

"Thanks honey," Tom retorts sarcastically, while Neelix looks suitably offended.

"This isn't an attempt at assimilation," B'Elanna tells them, her patience running thin. "The captain's been kidnapped."

"We don't know that," Chakotay breaks in.

"But you said—"

"I know what I said," Chakotay interrupts, "but I can't be sure. This is just a working theory." He turns to the Doctor. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but according to infection and immunology, a virus will only replicate inside a living cell, yes?"

"True," the Doctor confirms.

"And this particular virus?"

"Does just that. But as it's been modulated by the Borg, it has the ability to assimilate the cell it infects, making it appear ordinary and disease-free."

"So why hasn't she started sprouting cybernetic implants?" Harry asks.

"Because the pathogen is a virus, not a nanoprobe."

"Yeah, the confusion isn't letting up," Tom says rubbing his temples.

"It's comforting to know that the crew has such excellent backup if my program should start to degrade." The Doctor raises an unimpressed eyebrow in Tom's direction. "Think of a nanoprobe as a bacteria. It's bigger and has more punch to it. A virus is smaller, sneakier, and harder to kill."

"Not that I don't appreciate the biology lesson," Neelix says, "but this still doesn't explain why Commander Chakotay thinks the Borg Queen is targeting the captain for a more specific reason than... well... revenge."

"A virus infects a cell," the Doctor continues. "It replicates, creates new viruses, and eventually kills its host. A virus as aggressive as this one should have killed the captain within hours."

"Which it hasn't." Harry states the obvious, but looks none-the-wiser.

"Exactly. The replication pattern of the virus is too measured, like someone's controlling the mitosis."

"The Queen?"

"That's our suspicion," the Doctor inclines his head towards Chakotay, who nods. "If the Queen wanted to kill the captain, the virus would have been allowed to run its course. A personal grudge, revenge..."

"Is irrelevant," Seven finishes.

"The Queen wants the captain alive, and she knows there's very little we wouldn't do to get her back," B'Elanna concludes.

"A hostage situation," Neelix nods, his colouring returning to normal. "And does the Queen have a cure?" He looks at the acting captain.

"I can't be sure, but I believe she does," Chakotay answers.

"Okay," Tom draws the word out, making it sound like he thinks the whole thing is a bit far-fetched. "If the captain's been kidnapped, how do we get her back?

It's Tuvok who speaks up in the end, back in his uniform and a little worse for wear, but still on point.

"We negotiate."

* * *

TBC


	9. Chapter 8

"I want to make it abundantly and _officially_ clear that I object to this proposed tête-à-tête." The Doctor stalks disapprovingly around Chakotay and Tuvok, connecting cortical monitors to each of the two men.

"The decision is mine, Doctor," Tuvok calmly states, "and the only logical course of action."

"I beg to differ," the Doctor irately disagrees. He turns his full attention on Chakotay, and adds imploringly. "May I remind you that Commander Tuvok had his final surgery only yesterday? He should be resting, not making a trans-galactic conference call."

"A mind meld is not the equivalent of a conference call," Tuvok says.

"No," the Doctor snaps. "It's much more strenuous, and you should not be doing it! But why listen to me? After all, I'm just a hologram, not a physician. No, wait. I am!"

From his place behind one of the monitors, Tom snorts.

Chakotay ignores the pilot, removing his uniform jacket as he walk towards his assigned biobed next to Kathryn's. He has his own reservations, but if his theory about the Queen is true, they need to establish contact. Seven has tried, but not been successful. They could wait and see if the Queen resurfaces in Kathryn's body, or scan for Borg activity around the moon and hope to make contact that way. But both options are dangerous and time consuming, and Kathryn is getting worse. He's loath to admit it, but a mind meld seem like the logical choice. If it works. "I admit, the idea is far-fetched and unsavoury," Chakotay allows, trying to appease the EMH, "but we're running out of options. If you have any other suggestions, I'd be happy to hear them."

The Doctor's face sours even more. "I don't, which is the only reason I'm allowing this. I do want my objections in the log though, make no mistake of that."

"Noted," Chakotay acknowledges.

Chakotay lies down, trying to calm his breathing. Tuvok stands between the two beds.

"Mr. Paris and I will be monitoring all three of you. If either of us notes a single neural spike out of line, we bring you back, consequences be damned."

Both Tuvok and Chakotay accept the Doctor's words with a nod.

"Tell the captain she's late for her duty shift," Tom jokes lamely, as Tuvok moves to begin.

The Vulcan gently rests the fingers of his left hand on Kathryn's temple, his right on Chakotay's. Chakotay can feel himself go slack even before the other man has started his meditative chant.

"My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts..."

* * *

 _Flickering lights overhead._

 _A rancid odour sifting through his nasal passages._

 _His head feels like it's about to split in two._

'The last time I heard the words 'My mind to your mind' I had a headache for two weeks.'

 _Chakotay blinks._

 _My mind to your mind._

 _He tries to focus, but the world is spinning. He takes a steadying breath, and ignores the offending smell. His equilibrium slowly but surely returns, and he realises he's on the floor._

 _My mind to your mind..._

 _It all comes back to him in an unforgiving onslaught of images. Unimatrix Zero. Kathryn's naked body flush against him. Cold, metallic eyes, locking with his._

 _He's on his feet in an instant. The world spins anew, and he grabs the nearby wall to keep himself upright. His vertigo disappears quicker this time, and he scans the room. He's on a Borg vessel - that much is certain, and his esteem of Tuvok's abilities is well and truly cemented._

 _There's no sign of the Queen, but Kathryn's crumpled body lies in the corner to his left._

 _In two panicked strides, he's at her side. She's unconscious, but breathing. Her lip is split, and there's a cut over her left eye._

 _Just like he's seen on her body in sickbay._

" _Kathryn," he whispers insistently, kneeling next to her. He shakes her shoulder, and relief floods his system when she stirs. "Careful," he says, as she tries to push herself into a sitting position._

 _Her voice sounds like gravel when she speaks. "Remove your hand before I break it."_

 _Chakotay releases his hold on her immediately. Her eyes are glazed and hostile as they stare at him. He gives her some space, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. "Kathryn, it's me."_

 _Uncertainty fills her. "Chakotay?"_

" _It's me," he repeats, trying to assure her._

" _Are you real?" Kathryn asks, not ready to trust what she's seeing._

 _Chakotay nods. "As real as you are, though I suppose that's not saying much, since my body is on a biobed next to yours back on_ Voyager _."_

 _The suspicion in her eyes morphs into something that looks a lot like embarrassment. "We're in sickbay?"_

 _Chakotay can't help smiling. "Don't worry. I covered your body with a sheet before we beamed over."_

 _Kathryn closes her eyes. "Fantastic," she mumbles, and Chakotay chuckles. When she looks at him again, he can see she's fighting to keep the captain at bay a little longer. They need to talk, but this is not the time nor the place._

" _It's alright," Chakotay assures her, and a certain kind of understanding passes between them. Her relief is unquestioning, and he helps her to stand._

" _Well, Commander," Kathryn says, squeezing his hand, "I think you better fill me in."_

 _He does, as quickly and succinctly as he can._

" _A hostage situation," Kathryn says, gritting her teeth. "To tell you the truth, I was beginning to suspect as much."_

" _The Doctor is working on a cure, but the virus is putting up a fight..." Chakotay trails off, and realisation dawns on Kathryn's face._

" _The Borg has an antiserum?"_

" _That's our working theory, yes."_

 _Kathryn stares at him, and he knows what's coming._

" _Let me make one thing very clear," her hands unwittingly come to rest at her hips. "Kidnapped or not - we do not negotiate with the Borg."_

 _A familiar voice slithers through the air, and the pair from_ Voyager _whip around at the sound._

" _I wonder, Captain, would you have said the same if I'd taken the commander instead?" The Queen's attention rests on the first officer. "Hello, Chakotay," she smiles malevolently. "I'm impressed you found us."_

 _Chakotay's revulsion is visible as he faces their adversary. "I'm here," he tells her, his tone low and dangerous. "I assume you want to talk terms?"_

 _The Queen inclines her head, but before she can speak, Kathryn steps past Chakotay, a placating hand on his arm._

" _I'm sorry to rain on everyone's parade, but you both seem to forget," her look drifts from the Queen to Chakotay, "he's not the captain. I am."_

" _Captain..." Chakotay starts, but Kathryn shakes her head at him. She's not interested in what he has to say. There will be no bargaining or compromise, even if it kills her. He's about to plead his case, argue with her, when she sucks in a breath. Her chest heaves. Her hand comes up to wipe at her nose, and her fingers stains red._

" _Kathryn?" he asks, a developing sense of fear teasing at the edges as she starts to shake._

" _We both know what she's going to say, Commander," the Queen states conversationally. "I'm just saving us some time. She is a lot more pleasant when she's unconscious."_

" _Stop it," he warns the cyborg, holding on to Kathryn as she tries to catch her breath._

" _What are you going to do?" the Borg woman asks. "Argue your case with your lover? Make her see your point? Attempt to damage me? You already know you will fail, despite all that pent-up anger."_

 _Kathryn whimpers, the pain making it hard for her to remain standing. She's grabbed onto Chakotay for support, the blood on her fingers staining his grey shirt._

" _Name your terms," Chakotay barks, his arm tightening around Kathryn's back, keeping her upright. "I will see it done, just stop whatever it is you're doing!"_

" _Don't..." Kathryn begs, her eyes desperate and imploring as they lock with his._

" _You know what I want, Chakotay," the Queen says from the sideline. "You know who."_

 _And Chakotay does. He nods once, desolation clinging to him as Kathryn loses consciousness, and the world around him starts to fade. The last thing he hears as they both sink to the floor, is Kathryn gasping for air, and the Queen's parting words._

" _Send my regards to Tuvok."_

* * *

TBC


	10. Chapter 9

Chakotay wakes with a start, to a medical ward in functional chaos. He's disoriented, but recovers quickly, and is soon able to take in what's happening around him. In the neighbouring bed, Kathryn is convulsing. Alarms are going off, and the Doctor and Tom are taking turns barking at each other.

"Cut the damn restraints!" Tom shouts. "She's going to break her wrists!"

"Which is better than a fractured skull!" The Doctor snaps back.

Tuvok is holding her down, both hands on her shoulders, in an attempt to protect her from the clusters of electrical activity that keep her body seizing. The Vulcan looks exhausted, but his grip on the captain never waivers.

"15ccs of anetrizine!"

The hypospray has little effect.

Chakotay makes it off the biobed.

"Commander, please—" the Doctor tries to object as Chakotay pushes Tom away. He grasps Kathryn's head, trying to hold her still. He doesn't notice Tom at his back, desperately trying to drag him away.

"She'll break her neck if you hold her like that!" Tom yells, but Chakotay doesn't hear him. He holds Kathryn as her body bucks underneath him, his mouth hovering close to her ear.

"We have a deal!" he whispers forcefully. "I know you can hear me, and I know what you want. We have a deal!"

The effect is immediate. Kathryn's body stills, and so do the alarms. The sudden silence is almost uncomfortable after such a litany of sound.

The Doctor is the first to move. Tuvok and Chakotay both release their hold on the captain as the EMH starts scanning her. Before he can get any viable readings, Kathryn's hand strikes out, closing around Chakotay's arm in a vice like grip. Her head twists unnaturally to look at him, blood trickling from her left nostril towards her mouth where it stains her lips.

"Captain?" the Doctor asks, with alarm.

"No," Chakotay shakes his head slowly. He recognises the metallic gleam in the eyes that look at him. "It's not the captain."

The Queen licks away the blood and speaks with Kathryn's voice. "The virus is mutating. The more it adapts to her physiology, the more access I'm granted."

"If you harm her any more than you already have..." Chakotay doesn't need to finish. His intention is clear, and the threat is not idle.

"Yes," the Queen smiles. "I do believe you would try to hunt me down if your precious Kathryn were to parish."

"He won't be hunting alone," says Tom, stepping into the Queen's vision.

The Queen scans him. "The helmsman. What a devoted flock she leads."

"Was there anything else?" Chakotay growls, the hard edge to his voice drawing the Queen's attention back to himself.

"She's dying, Chakotay." the Queen tells him, eyes glinting as she speaks. "Time is of the essence."

Chakotay gives her a clipped nod. He doesn't have to be told that Kathryn's life is dwindling away, least of all by _her_. "I need your word that you will leave her be, and that you'll release the antiserum when the time comes." He ignores the looks he's receiving from the other men in the room. He'll explain soon enough.

"I can't keep the virus from mutating, not indefinitely. But, per your request, I will do nothing to accelerate the process," the Queen concedes. "When what's mine is delivered, you'll have what's yours."

"Then leave so we can get this over with."

The Queen closes her eyes. "A brief parting gift," she says, and when she opens her eyes again, metallic orbs have turned blue.

"Chakotay?"

The grip on his arm loosens, and he immediately grabs Kathryn's hand, moving closer. "What has she made you do?" she croaks.

He shakes his head. "Nothing," he promises. "She hasn't made me do anything. Are you okay?"

"Promise me," Kathryn says, ignoring his question.

"I promise," he squeezes her hand.

"We... don't..."

He can see she's slipping away. Falling, yet again, under whatever spell the Queen has put on her.

"...negotiate..."

She doesn't finish her order. She slips back into her comatose state, and to Chakotay, it's a blessing in disguise.

Because while she sleeps, he's the captain.

And he has work to do.

* * *

"She wants the sphere?" Neelix asks. "But there are 7000 people on that ship?"

"7000 drones," Tom corrects him.

"7000 drones waiting to come into their own," Neelix counteracts. "To regain their individuality."

"They won't know what they're missing," Tom argues. "They're dormant. They have no idea what's happening. "

"Mr. Korok isn't dormant."

"I can't believe we're even discussing this," the Doctor interjects. "We're talking about genocide."

"Technically, no, we're not," Chakotay states calmly.

"As you well know, Commander," Tuvok says, "this course of action would violate the Prime Directive in the most basic of ways. It goes against everything Starfleet stands for. Captain Janeway will not thank you for it."

"At least she'll be alive to dress him down," Tom argues heatedly.

"You'll be court-martialled," B'Elanna says, her dark, expressive eyes on Chakotay. "If you do this, if you allow the Queen to retrieve the sphere, the captain will have no choice but to strip you of rank, and throw you in the brig."

"But she'll be alive to do it," Tom repeats, irritated. "Why is everyone ignoring that?"

"On the contrary, Mr Paris," Tuvok clarifies, "We are all aware that what the commander is proposing may cause the Queen to release the captain. The question is, what life will she have knowing what was sacrificed in order for her to continue leading hers?"

"And there's nothing to say that the Queen will actually administer the antiserum," Harry adds. "We can't trust her."

Tom glares at his friend before addressing Seven. "What do you think?"

"I believe the Queen will keep her word," Seven offers. "Whatever you may think of the Borg, they do not kill for sport. If Captain Janeway can't be assimilated, the Queen has no use for her. The captain's biological and technological distinctiveness cannot be added to her own without a body."

The Doctor looks shocked. "I can't believe you, of all people, are advocating this, Seven."

"I am not advocating anything," the former drone says, calmly. "But I would be lying if I said that the lives on the sphere meant more to me than that of Captain Janeway. To choose between the two is... unpleasant."

The Doctor's look of disdain softens.

"Surely, there must be another way to get the captain back," Harry says.

"If you have any ideas, I'm all ears," Chakotay answers. The prospect of sacrificing the sphere sickens him, and he knows Kathryn wouldn't even consider it. He's run a thousand different scenarios in his head, all of them as far-fetched as the next, and he's at a loss as to what to do. All he knows is that he can't lose her. Whatever that means. "We're working under a serious time constraint," he informs the rest of the senior staff. "We need options, and we need them now. Doctor?"

"The captain's cellular degradation is advanced," the Doctor confirms. "According to my calculations, at present rate, permanent damage will occur anytime within 36 and 52 hours."

"We'd better get to work then," B'Elanna says, standing from her seat. She's kept her focus on Chakotay for the entire briefing. He doesn't want to look at her. She will see right through him, and not like what she finds. He gives her a quick smile, which he hopes will convince her he's not about to do something idiotic. That he's not using this meeting as a way to distract them from a decision he's already made.

He addresses the room. "You have 24 hours. I want hourly updates."

"And if we can't find anything?" Tom asks.

"We'll cross that bridge when, and if, we get there. Dismissed." Chakotay turns his back on them, to face the briefing room viewport. He hears them all scurry out, and he releases a tired breath.

"Are you going to give it to her? The sphere?"

Chakotay is surprised to find that Tom's the straggler, not B'Elanna. Yes, the pilot, has been the most vocal about the captain's retrieval, but B'Elanna has been by his side for years, ready to follow him wherever he wanted to go.

Or tell him he's a targ, depending on the plan.

"I don't know," Chakotay answers, turning when he hears Tom scoff. "Something you want to say to me?"

"Just that if it was B'Elanna trapped with that chunk of walking metal, I would tear through every Borg ship I could find, compromise every last shred of honour and dignity I have, if it meant I'd get her back in one piece."

"My relationship with the captain isn't exactly the same as what you have with B'Elanna," Chakotay counters.

"Isn't it?" The look on Tom's face is openly challenging, and Chakotay is struck with the thought that despite all his jokes and lofty attitude, Tom observes and reads people better than anyone he knows, bar Kathryn.

"You're walking a very fine line, Lieutenant," he warns.

"She's dying, Chakotay. I'll skip, hop and run past that line at warp speed if it'll get her back."

Chakotay can't help but ask. "Why?"

The younger man shrugs. "Because she believed in me when no one else did? Because she's changed my life? Because she's like that annoyingly perfect older sister I never knew I wanted? Take your pick. But mostly because we won't make it back to the Alpha Quadrant without her. I don't pretend to know what your relationship is like, not really, but I'd hazard a guess and say that if she died, you would too. And then where would we be? We need her. We need both of you. So I'm gonna ask you again – are you going to give the Queen the sphere?"

Chakotay doesn't answer. Instead, he activates the door sensors and speaks, leaving no room for further argument.

"You're dismissed."

* * *

TBC


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N: I can't believe we're actually closer to the end than the beginning! A big thank you again to everyone who's reviewed. You're all awesome. And Bee, yes you're famous now. Lol!**

 **Also, the quote 'Two roads diverged in a yellow wood' is from the poem 'The Road not Taken' by Robert Frost.**

* * *

 _'Time must pass differently here,' Kathryn thinks._

 _She's unsure how long she's been away from_ Voyager _, but if the haggard look of Chakotay was anything to go by, she'd hazard a guess and say days have passed since her rather abrupt abduction. His unshaven look came as a surprise to her. It's not something she's used to, and it speaks of time better spent on other things._

 _Of crisis mode._

 _She wonders how concerned she should be._

 _After the Queen's last display of power, Kathryn has been left alone. There's a force-field erected around her, probably to make sure she doesn't go off and tamper with any of the ship's many systems. Her body aches, and though she's glad of the respite, it also worries her. The Queen is biding her time, and all Kathryn can do is wait. Wait, and hope Chakotay isn't considering giving in to the demands of the Borg._

 _7000 lives for hers? It's a ransom that should never be paid._

 _Not for her._

 _But for him?_

 _If their roles were reversed like the Queen suggested, what would Kathryn have done?_

 _She closes her eyes, feels his hands on her body, his lips against hers. She thinks of shared responsibilities, of burdens made lighter, and a steadfast presence in her life that she may have taken for granted._

 _What would she have done if he was the one held hostage? If she was the one who'd been asked to pay an unforgivable price for his return?_

 _Would she do it?_

 _Could she?_

 _She imagines going against the regulations that bind her, betraying everything she stands for, everything her father stood for._

 _The thought of losing Chakotay, and the impact it would have on her, has lingered in the back of her mind for almost as long as she's known him. It's something she doesn't allow herself to dwell on, because it brings forth a tightness in her chest that threatens to suffocate her. He is the main reason she's managed to keep going for so long. What would become of her, of_ Voyager _, if she was to lose him?_

 _But to sentence 7000 people to a lifetime with the Borg?_

 _'I couldn't do it,' she thinks. Even for him. She'd refuse the Queen, and she would've had to watch him, like he's watching her, die a slow and deliberate death._

 _One she could have prevented._

 _She would have said no, but she thinks the decision, in the end, would kill her._

 _And she wonders if the same is true for him._

* * *

The prison has been empty for over a week. His fury and hate are living, breathing organisms that relish their pardon. They swell within him, drowning out the rules and regulations he embraced, yet again, on that fateful day when he decided to follow the Starfleet captain who was sent to arrest him.

Chakotay has almost forgotten how easy it was, when he first joined the Maquis, to ignore the bonds placed upon him by the organisation he used to serve, and let his rage roam free. He's almost forgotten how it felt to fight towards a goal and not be held back or swayed to halt by Starfleet's restraints. In the Maquis, the end always justified the means.

Has anything changed?

7000 drones on a liberated sphere. Five sentient beings with minds of their own.

A lost starship with a crew of a 150. One woman whom he can't live without.

 _'Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.'_

Two roads carved out in the black of space.

B'Elanna is right. He will lose his position. He will face a court-martial when they reach the Alpha Quadrant, but then he was facing that already, and 30,000 light years takes a long time to travel. The hardest thing to live with will be Kathryn's disappointment.

Her inability to accept that he chooses her over all others.

It's a disappointment he can live with.

One she can live with.

Treason is surprisingly easy when you think your cause is just. But has he learned nothing since he first joined the Maquis? Is this the kind of man he is? The kind of man he wants to be?

He doesn't know. All he knows is that the clock is ticking. The deadline looms, and time waits for no man.

How do they save their captain without sacrificing thousands? No one has given him a satisfactory answer, and while the crew has kept busy, Chakotay has made his own plans.

It's not difficult to set a trap. All that's needed is an honest face and a devious mind.

Mr. Korok and his complement have left the moon, their course set, as the ship travels to meet its liberated sister. _Voyager_ and the sphere have parted as friends, promising loyalty in the face of an ancient adversary that is threatening all of them. The general knows of the Queen's gambit, but he believes Chakotay when the functioning Starfleet captain assures him that _Voyager_ will protect them till the very end. He doesn't know that Chakotay has mapped out the sphere's route on purpose, the coordinates ready for the Queen to download along with access codes that no one's thought to scramble.

The sphere has been with friends after all, and Chakotay has honest face.

The chime to the ready room sounds, and Chakotay is forced to wait for another time to question his state of mind.

"Enter."

He thumbs off the PADD he's been typing on, and watches as B'Elanna slides into the chair in front of him. She looks at him in that penetrating way she has when she's trying to decide if he's due for a beating.

He fights the urge to squirm.

B'Elanna's changed since their time as Maquis. He sees in her an officer Starfleet would welcome back with open arms. After a rocky start, she's found her footing, and she's blossomed under Kathryn's captaincy. Found the confidence she'd lost when she left the Academy. She's proud of her uniform and the job she does. But it still surprises him that it's Tom, and not B'Elanna, who's been most vocal about turning their back on Starfleet in order to rescue Kathryn.

"Did you need something?" Chakotay asks, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.

"Yes," B'Elanna answers, and continues without a shred of diplomacy. "I need your brain to start realigning itself."

"B'Elanna—"

"Have you even considered any of the proposals I've sent you?"

"Of course I have."

"Bullshit!"

Chakotay can feel his temper flaring. "You're forgetting who you're talking to, Lieutenant," he cautions.

"Don't you dare pull rank on me. This is not the first officer and the chief engineer talking. This is you and me, and I call bullshit. I have presented at least 14 possible options for a rescue, three that actually hold some potential. Seven and I have been working on creating a Unimatrix One and—"

Chakotay cuts off her rant. "They're all good suggestions, B'Elanna, but it'll take too long to implement them. We need a quick fix. The captain—"

"Is dying, I know!"

Silence follows B'Elanna's angry outburst. They stare at each other, both trying to rein it in. When she speaks again, her tone of voice has changed from heated to imploring.

"What do you think she would say if we went ahead with this? Sacrificing Korok's ship to get her back? She would never condone it. She would never _forgive_ it."

"I know!" Chakotay snaps, then repeats more quietly, "I know."

B'Elanna softens. "Just look at the proposals. Don't do anything you'll regret."

"Fine," Chakotay sighs. "I won't give the Queen the sphere."

Silence envelopes the room. B'Elanna keeps scrutinising him. She knows him, has battled with him, and had his back for years. She's smelling a rat, but he's never looked her in the eye and straight out lied before.

In the end, she decides to trust him. "Okay," she says, her shoulders slumping. "We're close, Chakotay. Just... don't give up on us."

Chakotay allows himself a smile. "I suppose if anyone can do the impossible, it's this crew."

B'Elanna smiles too. "It's what we do."

Chakotay nods as she stands, and heads for the door. "I'll give you a progress report within the hour," she promises, and Chakotay nods again.

He watches her leave the same way he watched her come in.

With apprehension.

He exhales through pursed lips, and re-activates the PADD he was working on before the interruption. He goes through the sphere's access codes and the rendezvous coordinates one more time, and adds B'Elanna to the growing list of people he hopes will forgive him.

An honest face.

And a devious mind.

* * *

TBC


	12. Chapter 11

**The last two days have been somewhat challenging and not conducive with fic posting. I have some RL issues atm, but I do hope I'll be able to post the last five chapters without too much faff and waiting around. Thanks again to all everyone who's reviewed, as well as favourited and followed the fic. You guys are the best!**

* * *

"How is she?"

Chakotay asks, as soon as he enters sickbay.

The Doctor turns away from his patient. "Stable," he says, "after a fashion."

Chakotay doesn't want to speculate.

"What about yourself, Commander?" the hologram inquires. "Recovering from a mind meld requires rest." He looks at the chrono. "Six hours. Marvelous."

"I'm fine," comes the clipped answer.

"I'm sure," the Doctor snorts, then mutters under his breath. "Considering how many times I've heard that line, I wouldn't be surprised to find they taught it in command school." The ensuing glare from the first officer borders on lethal. The Doctor clears his throat and changes the subject accordingly. "In regards to our captain," he asks, closing his tricorder. "Have you chosen a course of action?"

"What would you say if I told you I'd give the Queen anything she asked for?"

"I'd say it was completely understandable. And then I'd have Tuvok place you under arrest."

Chakotay smiles, but the action is without humour. "Caught between a rock and a hard place."

The EMH sighs. "For what it's worth, I truly am sorry." He's lost some of his haughtiness, and looks genuinely anguished as he speaks. "I've done everything I can think of. Nothing seems to work."

Chakotay nods. He knows every member of the crew has done what's been asked, and more, in their quest to best the Queen. He puts a comforting hand on the EMH's shoulder. "You've done a tremendous job, Doctor," he says, and means it. "Unfortunately, you can't win every time." He looks at Kathryn's still form, and feels something ugly twist inside him.

"We still have a few hours left, and General Korok has given me some promising data on viral modification techniques used by the Borg," the Doctor says, in his own attempt to comfort. "We still have time."

Chakotay appreciates the effort, but doesn't comment. "Can I have a minute or two alone with her?" he asks.

"Of course. I'll be in my office if you need anything."

"Thanks, Doc."

Chakotay takes Kathryn's hand in his as the EMH disappears. In the end, there's only one thing he can do. He leans forward, and begs her forgiveness.

He tells her he hopes she'll understand, and that he won't hold it against her if she doesn't.

He tells her that he will accept his punishment, and spend the rest of their journey in the brig if he has to.

He tells her that her life means more to him than his own.

He tells her that he loves her.

* * *

The string of Klingon curses is loud and impressively descriptive as B'Elanna's simulation comes to a crashing halt. It's past midnight, and she's been working for 18 hours straight. Time is running away from them, and if she can't make these damn calculations work in her favour, she's afraid that they'll either have to betray every single rule they've been trying to uphold for the past six years, or leave behind the woman who has gotten them this far.

B'Elanna is not ready to live with either of these options.

She can still hear the Collective's muted voice in her head, and shudders to think of all the billions of people who have lost their lives to the Queen. B'Elanna's recent experiences as a drone, though limited, have gained her a new perspective on the Borg, in general. She's no longer able to think of the drones as pieces of machinery. They're dormant individuals, each and every one of them, and just like the captain, they're held hostage.

How can they even consider handing Korok's sphere back to the Queen?

She and Tom have argued long and hard about it. He sees her point, but he also wants the captain back, nearly as much as Chakotay does. The captain, in many ways, represents salvation to Tom. She rescued him back in the Alpha Quadrant, and now it's his turn to do the same for her. With his ever present optimism, he thinks as long as they get Janeway back, there is nothing stopping them from helping Korok again. They've saved that sphere once already, they can do it again.

B'Elanna's counterpoint is that it's hard to recover a sphere's that's self-destructed.

She wants the captain back too; of course she does. But in the short space of time when the away team was assimilated, little pieces of Kathryn's personality drifted past the barriers of the anti-assimilation inoculations, just like Tuvok's did. B'Elanna knows, with absolute certainty, that the captain would rather die than give in to any demands that require them to sacrifice innocent beings to the Queen. It's a forfeit that will chip away at her, little by little, just like the destruction of the Caretaker's array has done.

Which is why B'Elanna needs to get her damn spectral imaging projector working. Now!

 **'General Korok to B'Elanna Torres.'**

Another set of curses sounds through the room as B'Elanna taps her comm badge. "Torres here," she says, glad to know that the comm badge they've gifted to Korok is still functioning, even though the sphere has left them.

 **'Blplv'a?'**

"I'm fine. Thanks," she answers, too tired to spend energy trying to remember her Klingon.

Korok respects her wishes, and gets right too it. **'I'm sorry for the late call, but we have rendez-voused with our sister sphere. After explaining** _ **Voyager's**_ **plight, Captain Deh'li and I have a suggestion that may help with the release of Captain Janeway.'**

B'Elanna stops tampering with her calculations, trying not to get her hopes up."And?"

* * *

Cargo bay two is quiet and empty, as expected.

Empty, bar the five former drones that are regenerating there. It's closing in on 3AM, and Seven and the children are far enough along into their regeneration cycles to ensure that none of them will waken when Chakotay starts transmitting the data he's collected.

He's chosen his time deliberately.

He's done waiting, and he can't seem to think straight.

He feels, in many ways, like he did when he found out that his father had died; a sense of loss that couldn't be rectified, and brought with it a grief that was all-consuming and dangerous. It turned into something so dark he hardly recognised himself. The difference this time is that Kathryn doesn't _have_ to die.

He can save her.

Like he could have saved his father, if he hadn't been so preoccupied with Starfleet.

His finger hovers over the data console. He's typed in the coordinates. All he has to do now is plot in the final command, and let Seven's interlink node do the rest. He's stolen an anti-inoculation injection from sickbay, and has already injected Seven to insure no harm will come to her during the process. He feels bad for using her like this, but it's the only way he can get his message to the Queen without involving anyone else.

This is his decision, and his alone.

And no one else should have to live with the consequences.

 _'Liar,'_ a voice, sounding eerily like Kathryn's, whispers to him. _'You just don't want anyone to try to stop you. Don't pretend you're sneaking around for anyone's benefit but your own.'_

He drops his head, leaning heavily against the console. "I'm doing this for you," he mumbles.

 _'You're doing this for yourself,'_ the voice murmurs back.

So what? So what if he's doing it for himself? Hasn't his life given him enough suffering? Hasn't he lost enough people?

 _'Everyone suffers. You don't have a monopoly on grief.'_

"Shut up," he says, gripping the console as hard as he can. Kathryn's voice fades, and he stares at the console. A sequence of numbers that leads to a destination. All he has to do is press send, so to speak. His fingers hover over the buttons.

He thinks of Trebus, and his father; the way his mother used to sing in the mornings, and how he would help his younger siblings with their homework at night. He thinks of Kathryn rooting around in a bed of tomatoes, and a future he's never really allowed himself to envision until he kissed her.

Chakotay closes his eyes.

And life hangs in the balance.

* * *

Two hours after her conversation with Korok, B'Elanna is armed with a working projector and a plan. _'It's going to work,'_ she thinks excitedly. She taps her comm badge. "B'Elanna to Chakotay."

She waits, then tries again.

"B'Elanna to Chakotay."

Still nothing. "Answer, you oaf!"

The room remains quiet, and her annoyance is burgeoning.

"Computer, locate Commander Chakotay."

 **'Commander Chakotay is in his quarters**.'

"Typical," B'Elanna mutters, and leaves her office. She'll override and enter. If he's in the shower, then so be it.

Just as she makes it past the warp core, her comm badge starts to vibrate, a pre-rigged alarm for her eyes and ears only, telling her that shit is about to hit the fan. Her heart plummets. "Baktag!" She swears in Klingon, and starts running.

What in hell is that targ doing? They still have four hours left!

* * *

TBC


	13. Chapter 12

_There is perfection in simplicity, in synchronicity. Millions of voices speaking as one. Beings purged of trivial thoughts, their bodies stripped for parts that are of lesser value._

 _Assimilation adds to Borg supremacy. Voices join, several thousand with each passing second. A rebirth into a state of excellence. They are all her children and every drone that leaves, whether by choice, necessity or force, in a loss felt keenly._

 _Like a gaping wound before the scar._

 _It speaks of wasted time and chaos in an ordered society._

 _The Queen looks at the woman in the corner, quiet disdain radiating from the Starfleet captain in pulsating waves. She's an impressive being for her species. She's caused discord in the Collective on a large scale, a feat that is difficult to both accept and ignore. To add her distinctness to the hive would be pleasurable. Her mind, as it is, is too chaotic. A myriad of thoughts that should, and would, be purged if only her body could be apprehended. Such conflict. So much emotion for other people._

 _All this... love... for another._

 _Pointless._

 _Useless._

 _Irrelevant._

 _While she contemplates the prisoner, the scale tips in favour of the Borg. The gambit has paid off. Coordinates trickle in from a wound that hasn't healed, and order is about to be restored. The Queen smiles._

 _Love._

 _Maybe not so pointless after all._

* * *

 _'This is medical warfare,'_ the Doctor thinks. _'and I'm losing.'_

He sighs tiredly. He didn't know a hologram could be tired, but that's what he is; tired and pissed off. He's being bested by a microscopic microbe with a mind of its own. A synthetic mind.

Which makes the pill all the more bitter.

Because he always thought he was the most brilliant synthetic mind in the quadrant.

He stares at the image of his nemesis. Such a simple structure of DNA and protein, its core surrounded by a feeble little capsid. So deceptively benign. The Doctor has studied the pathogen. He can picture it in his mind's eye, but can't find a way to break its link to the woman who carries it.

Every antiviral medication he throws at it is gobbled up and rendered useless in a matter of seconds. His only feat in the week and a half that's passed is a mitotic accelerant – an injection that speeds up the replication rate of the captain's own cells. At least it's bought the captain, and himself, some more time.

As if to mock his train of thought, the alarm sounds.

"What now?" he hisses, as he rushes out of his office, and over to the captain. Tricorder in hand, he scans his commanding officer. She's not seizing. She looks the same. But her core temperature has risen by a degree, and there's a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead.

The Doctor scans the captain again.

He slaps his comm badge, and speaks with barely contained excitement. "Sickbay to Commander Chakotay."

No answer.

"Sickbay to Commander Chakotay. Come in, Commander!"

The Doctor waits.

But there's no reply.

* * *

It's been a strange week. It's an inadequate word, and not to General Korok's liking, but it doesn't make it any less true.

His ship doesn't have a view port, but from his seat, he has a screen that allows a panoramic view of the space around him. He can feel the anticipation of oncoming battle, and he relishes the thought of it.

He hasn't had much time to consider what's happened to him; everything from being stranded in the Delta Quadrant to the assimilation of his ship and crew; from Unimatrix Zero to being severed from the Collective. If he thinks about it too closely, the anger will overpower him. He's quite aware that he'll never make it back to the Klingon home world and his family, but there's beauty in battle, and he's grateful to this group of Starfleet officers for giving him, and others like him, a chance to fight back. The Borg civil war will more likely than not lead to his death, but he may be able to help free more drones, and that will earn him a place in Sto-Vo-Kor.

He watches the stars on his screen, and thinks that this is only the beginning. This is the time where some of those who've had their lives stolen away will take their stand against the Queen.

And they will persevere.

* * *

 _Kathryn feels useless. Idle. Unable to put up any form of resistance from the cell she's kept in. She doesn't cope well with being side-lined, and the lack of control she has over her own fate grates on her nerves._

 _She's already accepted that this is a predicament that she may not be able to escape. She knows she's not indestructible, and at some point, her luck is bound to run out._

 _But she believes in her crew, and she believe in her first officer._

 _She believes they will do their damnedest to find a way, and if they don't, she believes he will do the right thing._

 _He won't give up the sphere._

 _Even if it means her life will be spared._

 _He just won't._

 _She knows him._

 _Which is why the surprise is all the more shocking when she sees a lone sphere appear on the screen._

 _And hears the Queen's gleeful command._

" _Initiate self-destruct."_

* * *

In the blackness of space, a lone sphere explodes in a ball of fire that flashes and burns.

And thousands of light years away, a queen keeps her promise.

* * *

TBC


	14. Chapter 13

_She tries to fight off the Queen. Tubules bite into her skin, penetrating her neck._

She wakes, screaming, hot and cold all at once.

 _Sparks blaze in her peripheral vision. Green walls dissolve. A cybernetic hand moves away from her throat._

An incessant noise, annoying and loud in her ear. A grey ceiling above her. Gentle hands on her wrists.

 _Flickering screens. A triumphant smile gracing a distorted face. A sphere that no longer is._

A cool cloth on her forehead. Men she recognises blurring together as they move. A sphere that no longer is.

 _Panic course through her. "Your Commander did his part." A voice, smooth as silk._

Disbelief, as one world fades and another realigns. "Captain, can you hear me?" A question snapped by a hologram.

She can't open her eyes. Her throat contracts painfully as she tries to answer.

 _A surprised outcry, then fury at being bested._

 _A sphere that no longer is!_

But which sphere?

* * *

The first thing Kathryn notices when she wakes is the smell. She draws her breath with care – once, twice – before allowing her lungs to expand fully.

Who knew the antiseptic smell of _Voyager's_ sickbay could be so sweet?

All she can hear is the sound of a monitor that beeps in synchronisation with her heart. There are no bees buzzing in her ear, and her mind feels empty of voices that aren't her own.

She swallows with difficulty, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. She opens her eyes, and blinks profusely in spite of the modest lighting. If her throat is full of sawdust, her eyes are full of grit.

"Captain, you're awake," the Doctor's voice sounds from her right.

"Eyes..." she just about manages to say, a barely functioning hand coming to wipe the offending gravel away.

The Doctor raps her knuckles lightly. "No rubbing. Hold on."

She can hear him hurrying off. She's dying to scratch her eyes, but feels suitably chastised and doesn't want to evoke the Doctor's wrath any further. When he returns, she rather petulantly contemplates admonishing him for manhandling his injured captain, but he comes bearing gifts and when he administers the eyedrops, she thinks she may kiss him instead. He's also brought with him a glass of water. She drinks from the straw as greedily as she can, and ponders proposing marriage.

"How long have I been back?" she croaks when the glass is empty, and her eyesight has returned to normal.

"It's been nine days since Commander Chakotay brought you here," the Doctor answers. Kathryn refuses to blush when she thinks about her state of undress when she arrived in sickbay. "You started showing signs of improvement 24 hours ago. You'll be glad to know you're expected to make a full recovery."

"I'm still infected?"

"Technically, yes, but the virus is dying," the Doctor assures her. "It's the most curious thing," he continues, sounding excited. "When the viral capsid breaks down, the fragments melt. The ensuing viscous is the antiserum. A built-in self-destruct mechanism, so to speak. It's utterly fascinating."

"I'm sure," Kathryn comments dryly.

The EMH gets the drift. "Well, yes. Virus dying, captain mending, _Voyager_ flying. Is there anything else you want to know right now?"

There is, but the EMH isn't the right person to ask. "The crew?"

"Working at peak efficiency, as far as I know." The Doctor turns as the doors to sickbay hiss open. "Ah, Commander. Just the man I'm sure we both wanted to see."

Kathryn is struck with an unusual mix of apprehension and comfort when she follows the Doctor's line of sight, and sees Chakotay walk in.

"Just give us a second, Captain," the Doctor begs, leaving Kathryn's side to greet the other man.

Kathryn's too tired to grumble at being side-stepped. She assumes the Doctor is giving the commander a short update on her condition, and a list of all the things she shouldn't be doing over the next few days. They've danced this dance before, and she's well acquainted with the steps. Chakotay's eyes are glued to hers, even as he speaks with the Doctor. The encounter between the two men is brief, and before she knows it, the Doctor has deactivated himself, and she's alone with her first officer.

"Welcome back," he says, as he reaches the biobed.

She smiles, and gives him her hand. He takes it, and offers her a smile of his own. _'He looks tired,'_ she thinks. At least he's shaved, not that she disliked the stubble.

"What happened?" she asks, as neutrally as she can, not wanting to accuse him of anything. She can't really separate fact from fiction, and she doesn't know if the images that played in her mind as she left the Collective were real or imagined.

A sphere that no longer is...

Did he, or didn't he?

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Chakotay asks. "I really just came by to see if you were okay."

"To check the colour of my eyes?" There's a hint of humour to her question.

He chuckles, if somewhat darkly. "So to speak."

She gives his hand a squeeze. "I'm fine," she assures him. "Really, I am."

Chakotay nods, accepting her words.

"The Queen wanted General Korok and his sphere in return for releasing you from the Collective," Chakotay starts, and Kathryn nods. This isn't news. "We gave it to her."

Kathryn sucks in an involuntary breath, and feels herself run cold. "But—"

Chakotay cuts her off, realising he's chosen his words badly. "Don't worry," he reassures her. "The sphere was empty."

Did she hear him right? "I'm not following."

Chakotay gives an apologetic shake of his head. "I'm not delivering my report with style, am I?"

Kathryn quirks an eyebrow in response.

"Truth be told," Chakotay continues, "I wasn't much involved in the plan itself. It's B'Elanna and Mr. Korok we should thank. I..." he trails off, and lets go of her hand to tug at his earlobe. He takes his moment, averting his eyes for a brief second. "I would have given her anything she wanted," he finally tells her. His eyes lock with hers, and she understands the truth of his admission.

"We...," she has to stop. Draw her breath. "We can talk about that at a later time. Right now, I want to know what happened with Mr. Korok's sphere. Whatever you wanted to do, you obviously chose different?"

He looks like he wants to object, but he can also see that Kathryn is beginning to show signs of exhaustion, and he gives her a short nod. They will tackle his demons later. For now, all she wants are facts.

"Mr. Korok made contact with another sphere, captained by a liberated Brenari called Era Deh'li. Like Mr. Korok, she was an inhabitant of Unimatrix Zero, and, like him, she managed to disable the active drones on her ship, and claim the sphere as her own. The two spheres were destined to rendezvous at a specific set of coordinates, and join forces against the Borg."

Kathryn listens with rapt attention. She hadn't known about the second sphere.

"General Korok and Captain Deh'li offered to sacrifice Korok's sphere in hopes that the Queen would be fooled long enough for you to be released. B'Elanna helped devise a spectral imaging system that Korok implemented on the sphere, making it look like the ship was still full of drones, even after captain Deh'li beamed them over to her own sphere."

"Quite the gamble," Kathryn says, not with disdain at the risks to her life, but genuine pride and thankfulness.

"Yes," Chakotay agrees. "And I wasn't willing to take the chance."

"What changed your mind?"

"Not what – who." Chakotay says. "It was B'Elanna. Wielding a phaser and a good argument." He allows a smile at that.

Kathryn closes her eyes. She feels like a massive weight has been lifted off her. The sphere might have been lost, but the drones survived. That she can live with. "Thank you," she says, tiredly, as she looks at him again. "For taking a chance."

He doesn't say anything, pulls a chair closer to the biobed, and takes her hand as he sits down. "Rest now," he lightly orders. "I'll sit with you a while."

Kathryn, for once, does as she's told.

* * *

 _She can't explain why, but she knows she's dreaming. The colours are more muted, the sounds and smells less profound. The whisperings of the Collective not invading her mind._

 _She's not really there, but that doesn't make the encounter any less real, the afterglow of viral residues allowing one last encounter._

" _Well played, Captain," the Queen inclines her head in a gesture of grudging respect._

 _Kathryn accepts the acknowledgement with a nod of her own, though she had very little to do with the stunt her crew and Korok just pulled. "I'm afraid I really can't take any of the credit," she says, and adds with pride. "The deception was all theirs."_

" _Maybe," the Queen grants. "But they've learnt from the best."_

" _I wish I could say I was sorry."_

" _Don't worry. There will come a day when you will be."_

 _Ire fills Kathryn's chest, and she speaks with even, measured tones as she warns the Queen. "I don't take kindly to anyone threatening my crew. If you come for us, we will resist."_

" _You will try," the other woman shrugs a cybernetic shoulder in a gesture that is almost human. "Rest easy for now, Captain. Thanks to your collective, I have more pressing matters to attend to. And another sphere to find."_

 _The room flickers as the last few nanoviruses perish. The dream dissolves into nothingness, and in sickbay, Kathryn is finally free._


	15. Chapter 14

**A/N: And here it is. The beginning of the end (no pun intended). This is the last official chapter, but there's a two part epilogue following, so please stay tuned. Thanks, as always, to everyone who's reviewed, followed and favourited.**

* * *

At his desk in his quarters, Chakotay struggles to finish his personal log.

The extremes of his personality are again under lock and key, their warden on the mend and back where she belongs. She returns to active duty tomorrow, and her very presence is making it easier to breathe. Peace has found him again, and he's grateful for his reprieve, but it's difficult to stare into the mirror and see a person he no longer recognises.

Chakotay is no stranger to a guilty conscience; he's lived with it for most of his life, but he did think he had taught himself how to navigate it safely by now. He's used it as moral compass, and it's served him well up until the aftermath of Unimatrix Zero.

His behaviour over the past weeks is not something he's proud of. He thought he had more control, that after choosing such a questionable road once before, no matter how just the Maquis cause was, he'd learned how to work within the constraints that Starfleet and Kathryn had put upon him.

That he'd even enjoyed it.

He was the one who'd stepped in, and reminded Kathryn of the oath she'd taken when they dealt with the _Equinox_ crew. When Kathryn's rage and disappointment had taken her to the darkest part of her being, he was the one who'd forced her to stop, and to consider the choices she was about to make. At the time, he'd been completely blind-sided by her ferocity and questionable antics, and had accused her of indulging in a personal vendetta against Captain Ransom.

In the end, she'd thanked him, and they repaired their bruised relationship, but the incident had still left a part of him reeling, and wondering how far Kathryn Janeway would actually go to get her way or to prove a point. A year or so later, it's abundantly clear that the foundation of his moral high ground has been built on rotten wood. All it needed was the right circumstances to cause its inevitable collapse, and his inadvertent judgement of her has turned inwards instead.

How close did _he_ get?

How far did _he_ fall?

He dreads to think what the fate of those 7000 drones would have been if B'Elanna hadn't rigged Seven's alcove to let her know if anyone tried tampering with it.

At least now, he and Kathryn are on equal footing, their moral compasses realigned and pointing in the same direction; both of them having toed the line, but kept from falling off the edge.

Except her ire was brought forth by the torture and exploitation of another life form. His loss of direction was directly linked to her well-being, and a selfish need to have her in his life, no matter the consequences.

Maybe not on equal footing after all?

What happens if they find themselves in a similar situation again? Will he still be ready to sacrifice innocent lives to save the one person he can't live without? Will his cause be just then?

In the end, it doesn't matter. He can't take that chance.

Never again.

Even if it means letting her go.

* * *

Kathryn rings the chime and waits.

The Doctor has released her from sickbay, voluntarily this time, and she's back on duty tomorrow. Her last night out of commission. Chakotay has been with her every step of the way this time, but they've studiously avoided the one conversation they need to have, and that's why she's here, instead of relaxing in bed like the Doctor ordered.

It takes a while, but the door eventually slides open.

She smiles, so does he.

They both linger, struggling to find words that doesn't seem inadequate.

He lets her in, well aware of why she's come, and a strange kind of silence settles around them. Out of sickbay, and in the light of day, the air between them has thickened. There's no imminent danger to keep them occupied, and there's only one unresolved issue left to face.

She refuses to fidget even though her fingers are itching to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, rub at her neck or fiddle with her comm badge, and she hides her trepidation and uncertainty, looking at him with surety and repose.

"Can I get you anything?" Chakotay asks, his voice neutral and exceedingly polite.

"No, thank you," she answers, just as courteously, and she wants to kick herself in the shin for being a wimp.

He gestures to the couch, and they both sit down.

Kathryn quietly wonders if there's ever been a more awkward moment in the history of mankind.

"So..."

"What..."

They both speak at once, and some of the awkwardness dissipates as they chuckle at each other. Chakotay gestures for Kathryn to go first, only Kathryn doesn't quite know how to tell him what she really wants to say. ' _Well_ ,' she thinks. She didn't earn her rank by being a coward, now did she?

"I need you to know," she starts, "that I don't regret what happened between us. I think maybe it was..." she chews on her lip. "... that you and I..." Apparently the ability to finish a sentence is a skill she no longer has. Chakotay ducks his head, but she can see a dimple flashing, and the walls aren't closing in on her nearly as much as before. She calms. "I think it was inevitable."

Chakotay looks at her and smiles. "I don't regret it either," he tells her. "And I think you're right. It _was_ inevitable."

The pressing air in the room continues to lighten along with his admission. She wants to tell him that maybe they can do this. Maybe they can try being something more to each other than what they currently are. Even if they're not home. Even if she's the captain, and he's the first officer.

She thinks that in spite of everything, her treacherous heart has chosen him and that, inconvenient or not, it won't settle for anyone else. She's not sure what it is about this whole experiences that has made her so hell-bent on finally acknowledging her feelings, only that in the fight for individuality, she may have regained her humanity.

And maybe she owes it to them both to give it a chance?

Did she think he would cause her to lose her drive to get the crew home if they ever became involved? That her happiness would render theirdestination unimportant?

Or would _Voyager's_ safety come second to his?

 _'This is who we are,'_ she thinks, and the truth of it is so simple, she's almost embarrassed it's taken her this long to see it.

 _Voyager_ will always come first, because it's inherently impossible for them to choose differently. Duty is in their bones, and the very air they breathe. And being in a relationship will never change that.

These past two weeks have proven that.

Haven't they?

Her smile dwindles as she looks at him.

Really looks at him.

And the truth dawns on her.

"You can't do this, can you?" she asks, disappointment pressing down on her. "The two of us. You need the status quo to remain as it is."

"I'm sorry," Chakotay answers, and though she can see that he means it, she also recognises the wall he's building between them just as she's knocked down her own. "You have no idea how much I wish things could be different, but you don't know how close I came to surrendering the sphere. All because I couldn't imagine my life without you in it. _Voyager_ didn't matter. Starfleet didn't matter. Only you."

"But you _didn't_ surrender the sphere," Kathryn argues. "And I'm still here."

"Until the next time," he tells her. "When your life is in danger and I have to choose. I can't guarantee that I won't put you before all others, including this ship. I can't allow my personal feelings to overwhelm the duty I'm bound to uphold while we're here."

"I don't believe you will."

"But you can't guarantee it."

They stare at each other, and a dull acceptance settles within her. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few," she quotes quietly.

"I've spent the last six years trying to remember the man I was before the Maquis. My cause back then may have been just, but you're not the only one who has sins you feel a need to atone for. As long as you're in here," he points at his heart. "I can't be the Starfleet officer you and this ship need me to be. I won't be free until we get home."

"If we get home," Kathryn says.

"We will," Chakotay answers.

She takes a couple of calming breaths. She can't argue with him, however much she wants to. For six years, she's been the one who's kept their relationship from progressing. He's never pushed her, and she owes him the same courtesy, even if it is threatening to break her heart. She gives him her hand, and she's grateful he takes it.

"I'll see you on the bridge then, Commander," she says, rallying. She smiles, and allows distance to develop between them again.

"See you on the bridge, Captain," he promises. His hand tightens around hers, and then he pulls it away.

* * *

TBC


	16. Epilogue - Part 1

**A/N: Another brilliant bunch of reviews that I thoroughly enjoyed reading. Thanks all! I really hope the last two parts wont disappoint any of you, especially since Chakotay's decision left some of you slightly unhinged. Lol! There's a method to the madness, that's all I'm saying! :)**

* * *

 **2378 - Endgame**

A ship, easily recognised after numerous encounters, has been detected, and the alarms sound. In her alcove, the Queen knows, even before the report is delivered. She re-assembles, sighing in pleasure as spinal and thoracic clamps bite into the humanoid flesh that make up the organic part of her being. The connection of biological and cybernetic parts causes a small burst of electrical charge that runs through her circulatory system for a good minute before she aligns completely.

It's her favourite part of activation.

She hums, and readies herself for transport to the lower deck of the Unicomplex.

Soon after, a disembodied voice reports over the comm system. **'Vessel identified. USS** _ **Voyager.**_ **We will pursue and assimilate.'**

"No," the Queen replies, as she sees _Voyager_ on the view screen. "They haven't compromised our security. Let the vessel continue, for now. I'll keep an eye on them."

* * *

An anomaly occurs.

The Borg has kept its collective eye on _Voyager_ , scans indicating the vessel's continued retreat from the nebula, when a temporal rift changes the game.

 **'I've come to bring** _ **Voyager**_ **home,'** the figure on the screen says, unaware that the Borg are watching. The Queen recognises the woman, even though her appearance has altered. Her face is lined, and her hair less offensive. The Queen's curiosity is piqued, a faint premonition of things to come downloaded to her tertiary memory anagrams.

The potential gain of assimilation is far more enticing than a possible threat.

Two Janeways for the price of one.

* * *

When the first cube explodes, the Queen thinks her ocular implants are malfunctioning.

This can't be?

She was fair. She told Seven of Nine of what would happen if _Voyager_ re-entered the nebula. When the ship appeared, in spite of the warning, she ordered the Borgto destroy the vessel once and for all.

But this time, resistance appears not to be futile. _Voyager_ is sailing through Borg territory unscathed, encased in armour, and carrying weapons that are out of this world.

Out of this time.

A second cube disintegrates, thousands of voices silenced, and the Queen calls off her attack as uncertainty develops. The older Janeway, the admiral, has not arrived empty-handed, and the Queen's faint premonition has emerged from storage, and tells of a threat that's been underestimated.

It's unprecedented.

The humans should not possess this kind of knowledge or power, and she yearns to assimilate, to learn and to evolve.

But first, she has to survive.

* * *

The Queen has been gifted with a tactical advantage.

Time.

She doesn't know why, but _Voyager_ has retreated. The transwarp hub remains undamaged, and the Queen gets to work. Captain Janeway is persistent. It's to be expected that her older self is equally as relentless. Whatever their ultimate goal is, be it Borg destruction, a way home, or both, _Voyager_ will not leave the nebula for long.

When it returns, the crew's initial hesitation will be their downfall.

She learns what she can in the time she's been given. When _Voyagers_ trajectory points to the nebula for the third time, the Queen readies herself for war.

She stands in her alcove, preparing, when the fight comes to her, cloaked and ready, surprising her in the most basic of ways.

"I don't know how you do it, all those voices talking at once," Admiral Janeway tuts. "You must get terrible headaches."

Apprehension fills the Queen. It's a foreign sensation, one she only associates with species 8472. But it ripples through her as she faces her adversary, and she twists her neck sharply, alerting her drones of the stowaway.

"If you're calling drones to assimilate me, don't bother," the white-haired woman says, her demeanour holding a hint of superiority that grates.

The Queen steps down from her alcove. All this talk and sparring gets them nowhere. They've played this game before, and the Queen has tired of it.

"I don't need drones to assimilate you," she bites with a smile, and swiftly deploys her assimilation tubules into the other's neck.

A holographic neck, it turns out, and the Queen is foiled again.

However, the plot thickens.

The admiral has come to bargain.

The Queen doesn't know what to think. If there's one thing she's assimilated from her dealings with Kathryn Janeway, it's that the Starfleet captain holds her principles and duty to her organisation above all else.

And yet, her older counterpart, proposes an interesting deception.

The woman is adamant that her only objective is to get _Voyager_ back to the Alpha Quadrant. She's sharper and more pragmatic than her younger self. She's already broken Starfleet's precious Temporal Prime Directive, and it's not difficult to believe that this weathered Janeway would sacrifice her principles for the crew that's so dear to her heart.

In the end, it really doesn't matter. All the Queen has to do is keep the admiral talking, to make her think the Borg is willing to make a deal. The Collective has informed the Queen that it's closing in on Janeway's actual location, and once found, this will all be over.

When the message filters through, the Queen can't help but smile. Such an insignificant human this woman is, after all. Her shuttle has been located, and the tractor beam is ready.

"You underestimate me, Admiral," she tells the woman, taking great pleasure in delivering her news. "While we've been talking, my drones have triangulated your signal."

It's all Janeway needs to hear. The hologram disappears instantly, but it's already too late.

The Queen closes her eyes in satisfaction, and waits.

* * *

When the real Admiral Janeway is transported to the Queen's chambers, the Queen delights in the undercurrent of fear that's replaced the arrogance in the admiral's eyes.

"Very clever," she tells her prisoner. "Hiding right on my doorstep. Were you planning to attack us from inside the Unicomplex?" She stares at the other woman, a curious and unusual sense of anger filling her. "Not feeling very talkative?" she asks.

Before the old woman can react, the Queen plunges her assimilation tubules into her, and this time, pliant skin breaks, and the threat is neutralised. The admiral groans in what the Queen can only assume is pain, and helplessly slides to the floor. As the first cybernetic implant explodes onto her pale face, Janeway's thoughts and memories starts filtering through the hive mind.

"You and I don't need words to understand each other. Not anymore," the Queen says with delectation. "You're ours now."

* * *

TBC


	17. Epilogue - Part 2

_'Damn,'_ Admiral Janeway thinks, as she feels muscles and skin tear apart to allow pieces of metal and circuitry to sprout forth. Some things certainly don't change. Assimilation still hurts like a bitch.

She would have liked to remain standing, but at 76, arthritis has started to set in, and if you add that to the electrical charge that is currently frying her from the inside, she accepts her shortcoming grudgingly. She leans heavily against the side railing of the hub she's seated in, and concentrates on her breathing.

 **'Voyager has entered aperture eight two three. Access transwarp corridor zero nine. Redirect vessels to intercept at subjunction—'**

An explosion rocks the room, and the computerized voice that sounds through the chamber becomes garbled. The admiral sees the Queen stumble, shock and something akin to dread visible on her pasty face. Sparks fly as more explosions shake the room. The Queen struggles to keep her footing.

Relief fills Janeway. It's started. "Must be something you assimilated," she says to the Queen, annunciating every word as best she can.

"What have you done?" the other woman asks, horrified, clutching a beam to keep standing.

"I thought we didn't need words to understand each other?"

Another explosion causes the admiral's vision to blur. The room pales, and is replaced by another.

" _I now pronounce you husband and wife." Forcing a smile, Kathryn's voice never wavered. "You may kiss the bride," she added, just as calmly, and watched as Chakotay and Seven moved as one, sealing their marriage by a lingering kiss._

The unwanted memory forces the breath right out of the admiral's lungs. She gasps, cursing her own subconscious. Surely there are other, less painful, recollections to be had when dying?

"You've infected us with a neurolytic pathogen!" The Queen's words chase the image away, and Janeway returns to the present.

"Just enough to bring chaos to order," she answers, silently praising the Doctor's ingenuity at using the same properties of the virus that nearly killed Kathryn after Unimatrix Zero, to launch this biological attack on the Borg.

True fear glints in the Queen's metallic orbs, and she gasps as the ship lurches violently. The admiral shields her face from the flammable embers of expelled fumes, and the world fades anew.

" _We killed her. You sent her there, and I refused to negotiate her return in your absence."_

 _Chakotay was in her face, forcing her to look at him instead of Seven's lifeless body on the biobed. Kathryn couldn't breathe. How had this happened? It was supposed to be just a simple survey mission._

" _You shouldn't have sent her!" Chakotay thundered, grief twisting his calm features into a mask she'd only seen a handful of times before. "And you should never have left us!"_

" _And_ you _should have given them what they asked for!" she yelled back, her own voice shaking._

A grief-filled groan escapes the admiral, and she shakes her head, chasing the memory away.

" _Voyager_ will be destroyed," the Queen grinds out.

Janeway is grateful for the respite from her memories. She forces her attention back onto the Queen, who is grasping at straws.

"They're in front of the shock wave," she says, with little compassion. "They'll survive. Captain Janeway and I made sure of that." Pulling herself into a standing position, she adds. "It's you who underestimated us."

The pathogen has already caused the conduit shielding to destabilise, and _Voyager's_ transphasic torpedoes have obliterated the manifold shielding that protects the transwarp conduits. Still, the Queen refuses to yield. Despite all her enhanced technology, she's blind to what she's seeing. She trembles, her eyes glazing. Another explosion hits, and she whimpers. Her left arm hangs limply by her side, electrical charges crackling around one of the joints. She pulls the ruined machinery off her body, and throws it away with disgust. The ship shakes, and white light temporarily blinds both women.

" _I'm sorry, Kathryn," Chakotay coughed, struggling to catch his breath. "For blaming you, when Annika's death always rested on my shoulders."_

 _Kathryn shook her head, but Chakotay kept going; the final confession of a dying man. "I told you, many years ago, that I couldn't be with you." He coughed again, clutching at her as the fit wrecked his weakened body. "I loved Annika," he gasped. "As much as I was able. But to sacrifice_ Voyager's _safety and the Prime Directive was never an option. Not even when her life was at stake. Not like I would have done for you."_

Tears burn in Admiral Janeway's eyes as she remembers the night Chakotay died. Whatever happens next, her younger self will have a chance. Maybe this will save Seven and Chakotay alike, and maybe, just maybe, coming home before their time will give Kathryn and Chakotay another chance at a life together.

When they're both free.

"Sphere six three four," the Queen murmurs, sparks coming off the socket where her arm used to be. She's literally falling to pieces, and yet she refuses to give up. On the view screen, a cube changes it's direction. "They can still hear my thoughts," the Queen moans, a misguided sense of hope colouring her words. "I may have assimilated your pathogen, but I also assimilated your armour technology."

Yet another explosion devastates the ship, and in its wake, the Queen's leg detaches and falls off. She flails for balance, a sickening dance of a dying leader. She tries to keep herself upright, but the pathogen is unforgiving, and she falls to the floor, unable to control her remaining limbs any longer.

On the view screen, the sphere continues to chase _Voyager,_ and the Queen smiles brokenly."Captain Janeway is about to die. If she has no future, you will never exist, and nothing you've done here today will happen."

The admiral is too exhausted to answer. _'No,'_ she thinks, knowing full well the Queen can hear her thoughts, the unrelenting 'beauty' of assimilation. _'It is the Borg who will cease to exist.'_

The two women stare at each other, both of them struggling, yet refusing to back down, even as death is closing in on them both. The admiral is still standing through sheer force of will. The distorted voice of the Collective cry in her mind, like a wounded animal fighting for its life. She would pity them if it didn't hurt so damned much.

 _'You're almost fully integrated into the hive mind. I can see everything you've ever wanted to hide, every dark little secret, and you will soon feel the same joy at your own death as I will,'_ comes the Queen's silent words, before she jerks, unable to keep her head raised any longer. _'At least I'll have that.'_

A memory flickers in to life, and both women experience it.

 _The doors to the ready room hiss open._

 _Kathryn stops her pacing, a hand coming up to quell the sob that threatens to escape her as Chakotay walks into the room. She stares at him, her control and poise slipping through the cracks like water dripping through cupped fingers._

 _He looks shell shocked. "You did it." Laughter bubbles forth and he repeats, "You did it!"_

" _We did it," comes the muffled reply from behind her hand. Before she can say anything else, he's crossed the room. He pulls her to him when he's close enough, and he hugs her fiercely. She can feel her legs wanting to give out from under her, the shock and elation of having reached the Alpha Quadrant after seven years adrift, too enormous to comprehend. His arms tighten even more as he keeps her upright. The sob she's been trying to keep at bay can't be contained any longer, and she cries and laughs into the crook of his neck, hugging him back just as fiercely._

" _We're home," he whispers into her hair, joy and happiness tingeing every word, and she knows with a certainty that's unquestionable, that his dalliance with Seven are over. "We're free."_

" _We're free," she whispers back._

 _And then his mouth is on hers._

Admiral Janeway draws a shuddering breath. This is not her memory. This never happened to her.

The only explanation she can think of, is that she's experiencing a temporal anomaly. As one timeline dies, another is created. Time is temporarily suspended in a state of flux, allowing the admiral to experience both her own past, and the future of Captain Janeway.

They are, after all, the same person.

The Queen sees it too. It's in her agonal breathing and fragmented thoughts, and she finally accepts defeat.

 _Voyager_ survives, and there's nothing she can do about it.

An onslaught of images hit them.

 _Voyager's_ homecoming 16 years before it's time.

Tuvok's recovery from the illness that wrecked his mind in the Admiral's timeline.

Seven's tireless search for Axum, and the couple's wedding when she finally finds him.

Memorials for those that didn't make it back, and glimpses of the lives that were spared by _Voyager's_ premature return.

Not all the images are happy ones, but most of them are, and at _Voyager's_ 26th reunion party, a white haired admiral joyfully celebrates with the rest of her crew.

Along with her husband, Chakotay.

Admiral Janeway slides to the floor, happiness enveloping her in her final moments. She looks at her adversary. The Queen's exoskeleton has disconnected from the organic parts of her body, and the admiral knows it's just a matter of time before they're both dead. Captain Janeway's life plays in both their minds in a string of pictures that leaves a smile on the admiral lips and dulls the Queen's eyes.

The voice of the Collective is dwindling, and the last thing the admiral hears before the Unicomplex explodes, are the Queen's dying words, echoing through her mind.

 _'Congratulations, Kathryn. You win.'_

 **The End**


End file.
